


Soul Bound

by ekatsim



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bi-Sexual Harry, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fem Harry Potter - Freeform, Grey Harry, Harry and Voldemort are soulmates, Harry is a drunken toddler, Memories, Mention of torture, Minor Character Bashing, Morally Grey Albus Dumbledore, Mutual Pining, Poor Life Choices, Protective Sirius, Protective Voldemort, Sane Voldemort, Slow Burn, Soul Mates AU, Soulmate caused anxiety, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Stalking, Suicidal Ideation, and Voldemort is chasing her, dumbledore isn't all that great, graveyard AU, harry is still a horcrux, if voldie gets hurt so does harry, lives linked to each other, nasty crime duo, no beta other than my gf and her opinions?, soulmates on crack, where does harry end and voldemort begin?, yelling put the knife down you HOOLIGAN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekatsim/pseuds/ekatsim
Summary: Heather Potter discovers her soul-mate in the worst time and place, not to mention to the worst person possible.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Death Eaters, Harry Potter & Sirius Black, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort, Severus Snape & Harry Potter - Relationship, Severus Snape & Voldemort, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, The Golden Trio - Relationship
Comments: 155
Kudos: 606





	1. Chapter 1

Heather Potter would've given anything for Sirius to save her, for her friends, for Dumbledore, _anyone_ , hell even the Dursleys, to rescue her from that graveyard. The blinding green light that had murdered Cedric was burned into her retinas so deeply that she feared that whenever she looked at herself they would permanently reflect that same sickening color. 

Unaware of her growing panic, Lucius was groveling on the dirt floor beneath Voldemort's harsh gaze.

“Master, we crave to know . . . we beg you to tell us . . . how you have achieved this . . . this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us. . . .”

She couldn't breathe let alone move from where she was trapped against the gravestone of Voldemort's father. Each breath she took trembling with the searing pain of her scar.

“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius,” Voldemort sighed as though he was having a calm conversation over tea, “And it begins — and ends — with my young friend here.”

The eyes of each member in the death-eater circle followed him as he lazily approached, the snake beneath them circling relentlessly. 

“You know, of course, that they have called this girl my downfall?” his red eyes were soft as her scar continued to burn with relentless fury, “You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill her. Her mother died in the attempt to save her — and unwittingly provided her with a protection I admit I had not foreseen...I could not touch the girl,”

One of his long white fingers raised as he spoke, holding it tauntingly close to her cheek. 

"Her mother left upon her the traces of her sacrifice, this is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it, but no matter. I can touch her now.”

Delirious with pain and terror at the imminent promise of her own demise, her body reacted for her before her mouth could. Rearing her head backward in the beginnings of an attempt to escape from his grasp and spitting in place of words, blood spraying against his pale face as his hand rewarded her defiance by coiling around her throat. Her scar bursting with pain, all thoughts trailing to panic that this was it, she was going to die-

And the pain stopped. Memories she couldn't quite place flashing past her vision. An orphanage. Bullies that so closely resembled her cousin and his friends chasing her, a fear that her failure to escape would be rewarded with another beating. The bitter taste of distrust burning her senses as Dumbledore, much younger than she knew him to be, stared down at her.

_a locket,_

_a ring,_

_a diadem,_

_a cup,_

_a diary,_

_a snake,_

...and suddenly a baby.

It was silent as she stared at the baby for a moment, a memory she tried to place, seemingly at her fingertips before this was roughly ripped away from her, vision returning to the very man who'd been trying to kill her for the duration of her entire life, hand still gripped tightly around her throat, staring with the very same air of confusion.

Silence. It was only them. As it had always been whenever they'd gone toe-to-toe, nobody else had ever mattered. It had only been her against him, every decision and turn she ever made always leading her back to _him_.

"My lord?"

It took them both a second to react to Lucius Malfoy's voice, gasping for air that she hadn't realized had been stolen from her as his hand left her throat, turning away with the determination of a man trying to act as normal as possible, his attempts pasued for a moment as he stared at a spot on her neck.

“I...miscalculated, my friends, I admit it."

Her throat burned in place of the pain that had moments ago been searing so painfully.

"The curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah...pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost...but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know . . . I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal — to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself . . . for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand..."

“I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist. . . . I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited. . . . surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me . . . one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body . . . but I waited in vain. . . .”

There was an uncomfortable shiver that ran through the crowd then, that same one running down her spine as his eyes returned to hers for mere moments before returning to those waiting patiently for the next words to leave his mouth.

“Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others." his eyes had now left her, yet each word seemed more directed to her with each passing second, "But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals — snakes, of course, being my preference — but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill-adapted to perform magic . . . and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long. . . . then . . . four years ago . . . the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard — young, foolish, and gullible — wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of . . . for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school . . . he was easy to bend to my will . . . he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted . . . thwarted, once again, by Heather Potter. . . .”

“The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been,” Voldemort continued, “I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers. . . . yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour . . . I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess . . . and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me. . . .”

One or two of the masked wizards in the circle shifted uncomfortably, but Voldemort took no notice.

“And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last . . . a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to return to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumored I was hiding . . . helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them. . . . “

She made certain to remember to mention this to Sirius if she survived, apologize for not allowing him to kill the man the year prior. Another instance where her own mercy had come back to bite her.

"But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food . . . and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic? Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Wormtail, and of my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail — displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him — convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her . . . he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams . . . for — with a little persuasion — she became a veritable mine of information."

“She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me if I could only contact him. She told me many things . . . but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her.”

His terrible smile returned at once, his red eyes blank and pitiless toward his death-eaters, “Wormtail’s body, of course, was ill-adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth . . . a spell or two of my own invention . . . a little help from my dear Nagini,” Voldemort’s red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, “a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided . . . I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel."

“There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer’s Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower . . . I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength. I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight — I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant. . . .My father’s bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe . . . Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me . . . as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Heather Potter’s blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago . . . for the lingering protection her mother once gave her would then reside in my veins too..."

The very thought was disgusting, enough to make vomit threaten to rise in her throat, the violation of her own body and blood to revive him, how it had been taken from her without her permission, betrayal from within her own skin.

“But how to get at Heather Potter? For she has been better protected than I think even she knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago when it fell to him to arrange the girl’s future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the girl’s protection as long as she is in her relations’ care. Not even I can touch her there..."

There was a long pause as he returned his gaze to her, the mention of those relatives enough to almost free a snort of disagreement from her nose, what _care_ was that supposed to be?

"Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup. . . . I thought her protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the girl would return to Hogwarts, where she is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take her?"

“Why . . . by using Bertha Jorkins’s information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the girl’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the girl won the tournament — that she touched the Triwizard Cup first — the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring her here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore’s help and protection, and into my waiting arms."

 _Waiting arms_. If she wasn't so consumed with her own emotions she might've laughed at how romantic that sounded.

"And here she is . . . the girl you all believed had been my downfall. . . .” Voldemort moved slowly as he turned to face her, raising his wand questioningly, as if asking himself what would happen if he was to proceed. Whatever answers were swirling in his head enough to make him hesitate for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as slowly, he stepped closer, Heather in turn desperately trying to press herself as far away from the man as possible as he outstretched his wand enough to brush her hair from her shoulder, eyes staring at the crook of her neck for a moment before turning away as if a moment's longer glance would've burned him.

“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this girl could ever have been stronger than me, but I want there to be no mistake in anybody’s mind. Heather Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing her, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help her, and no mother to die for her. I will give her this chance. She will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini,” the snake gliding away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching, “Now untie her, Wormtail, and give her back her wand.”

She'd barely steadied herself on her feet before he continued, her wand thrust wordlessly into her hand.

“You have been taught how to duel, Heather Potter?” her memories being tugged forwards at the question. She had been taught, two years prior, the dueling club, expelliarmus, the snake, parseltongue...

Despite this club, and all the expectations Dumbledore had of her, and all the times she'd fought to keep her life. She had never learned anything that could possibly have prepared her for this. 

“We bow to each other, Heather,” Voldemort instructed, bending a little at the waist while keeping his snakelike face upturned to her, “Come, the niceties must be observed, Dumbledore would like you to show manners. Bow to death, Heather." 

She considered for a moment telling him where to shove his manners. Deciding against provoking the man for a moment longer and obeying with the expectation that if she didn't she was going to be forced to anyway. Keeping her face upturned as he had, both straightening in mirror image.

“Very good, and now you face me, like a man, straight-backed and proud, the way your father died. . . . “ smiling back at her glare, knowing that he'd struck a nerve, "And now — we duel.”

Despite her best efforts and years of Quidditch, she hadn't been able to move before the blinding pain struck her, collapsing to the ground immediately and grinding her teeth in a desperate attempt to stop her own scream of pain escaping her, the pain releasing within seconds of it coming as Voldemort's voice hissed out to her.

"What have you done..." 

Heather had no answers, more focused on trying to get up from the ground, barely managing to take a knee when-

"Crucio!"

Blood filled her mouth as she hit the ground again, her teeth sinking into her teeth in an attempt not to scream, to potentially beg for death in place of the agony overtaking every one of her senses, her vision doubling as a noise of pain was pulled from the Voldemort's mouth.

She didn't have the energy to consider this either, surrendering to the pain shivering through her as her eyes fell hopelessly to a glint in the grass across from her, resting beside Cedric's body.

"My lord!"

The death-eaters were fawning over Voldemort, the world spinning almost deliriously as she struggled to move, to prepare herself to run as Voldemort was now surrounded by death-eaters trying to support him, her body making a move for it, to escape-

" _Crucio_!"

She didn't stop the scream this time as her body hit the ground with a thump, the world seemingly blacking out as her body twisted with pain, the words at the tip of her tongue, to beg it to stop, to just _let her die_.

"Crucio!" a death eater's scream echoed across the graveyard as her vision blurred, consumed by disbelief that the curse that had been cast had been done by Voldemort, settling her once more on the cup. She was closer now, her fingertips just moments away from it if she was fast enough...

"The girl is mine, do _not t_ ouch her!"

She dived again, grabbing Cedric's shirt with one hand and the cup with the other, Voldemort's enraged yell and incoming spell narrowly missing her as she felt like she was being thrust into a tube, her body squeezed and spun before being thrown out across the dirt once more, cheering and celebration surrounding her.

The only thing grounding her against the overload of her senses was the smooth, cold handle of the cup, and Cedric's body. The shock and exhaustion finally catching up to her along with the taste of blood resting in her mouth. Footsteps building noisily around her as she tried to cling onto consciousness, the dull sound of a sob leaving her mouth against the building of voices. Screwing up her eyes as though she could will the agony away before a pair of hands roughly seized her, turning her over.

"Heather!"

Dumbledore was crouched over her, the ground beneath her reverberating with footsteps as a crowd seemed to grow around them, her hand releasing the cup as the other gripped ever tighter to Cedric, her now free hand desperately reaching and taking Dumbledore's wrist as his face swam out of focus.

“He’s back,” she managed, “He’s back. Voldemort.”

“What’s going on? What’s happened?” The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over her, "My God — Diggory! Dumbledore — he’s dead!”

The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them, followed by others shouting it as it echoed across the crowd.

“He’s dead!” “He’s dead!” “Cedric Diggory! Dead!”

“Heather, let go of him,” Fudge's trying to pry her from Cedric's body as Dumbledore's face came closer,

“Heather, you can’t help him now. It’s over. Let go.”

"No," gripping tighter against Fudge's efforts, "I had to bring him back, bring him back to his parents...”

“That’s right, Heather . . . just let go now. . . .” Dumbledore bending down with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin and raising her from the ground, setting her on her feet as she swayed.

"What’s happened?” “What’s wrong with him?” “Diggory’s dead!”

“She’ll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge said loudly as Dumbledore held tightly onto her, “She's ill, she’s injured —" her eyes turning across the crowd for a moment, her body swaying a little as the world swam around her, "Dumbledore, Diggory’s parents, they’re here, they’re in the stands. . . .”

“I’ll take Heather, Dumbledore, I’ll take her —”

“No, I would prefer —”

“Dumbledore, Amos Diggory’s running . . . he’s coming over. . . . Don’t you think you should tell him — before he sees-?”

“Heather, stay here —”

Dumbledore's hand left her as Moody's drifted in.

“It’s all right, kid, I’ve got you . . . come on . . . hospital wing . . .”

“Dumbledore," she tried, her vision blurring as she tried to spot the man who had now disappeared into the crowd, "Dumbledore, he said..."

“You need to lie down. . . . Come on now. . . .” Someone larger and stronger than she suddenly half pulling, half carrying her through the frightened crowd against her attempts to stay put, people gasping, screaming, and shouting around them as Moody pushed a path through them.

"Is that..." "Potter has _the_ mark!"

She wanted to ask Moody what they meant, the chatter disappearing as she resolved to focus her weight into walking, Moody talking excitedly as he lifted her up the steps,

“What happened, Heather?”

"Cup was a Portkey,” she managed, tripping up a step, "Took me and Cedric to a graveyard . . . and Voldemort was there . . . Lord Voldemort . . .” 

“The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?”

“Killed Cedric . . . they killed Cedric. . . .”

“And then?”

"Dumbledore.." trying to raise a hand to her forehead as she tripped again, Moody settling for dragging her across the floor.

"What happened, Potter?" 

"Old magic... used my blood... got his body back. . . .”

“The Dark Lord got his body back? He’s returned?”

“The Death Eaters came . . . and then..." memories flashing through her again as her body slumped with the overload, "Stay conscious, girl...what happened next?"

"I don't know..."

She truly didn't, she couldn't place those scenes, those memories. And she wasn't convinced that she ever would. Moody dragging her through another door and toward a chair.

“In here, Heather, in here, and sit down. . . . You’ll be all right now . . . drink this. . . .” a cup blurring into view, “Drink it . . . you’ll feel better . . . come on, now, Heather, I need to know exactly what happened. . . .” forcefully tipping the liquid down her throat as it's peppery taste burned against the taste of her own blood. Moody slowly coming into focus, appearing as white as Fudge had, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on a spot on her neck.

"Voldemort’s back, Heather? You’re sure he’s back? How did he do it?” his hand reached for her neck as she let out a low groan in response. She wanted to sleep so desperately, the man pushing her head backward as this thought crossed her, exposing her neck in its entirety.

"What is this, what is this mark, Potter?"

"Mark?" she managed, eyes staring up at the ceiling, she could still hear screaming from the Quidditch field.

"This mark..." his fingers ghosting across the skin of her neck, "How did you escape, Potter?"

"Crucio," she managed, allowing her eyes to flutter shut as he released her neck, his feet dragging across to the other side of the room as he rifled through books, unwanted ones hitting the ground with rough thumps, "He used crucio on me, and then something happened...he was hurt..."

"He was hurt?" 

"I ran, a death-eater used crucio next, and he attacked them,"

Why had he done that? her eyes opening to stare at the dark ceiling again, "I ran while he was distracted."

"How was he hurt, Potter?" Moody was closer now, pages turning aggressively as Heather tried to lift her head up to sit up, to think, to focus, the man roughly shoving her backward as she did, "Stay still!"

"Where..." shaking hand running up to her neck, "Where is Dumbledore?" 

" _S_ tay still, Potter! Let me see that..." Moody pulling her hand from her neck, "How did you get that mark, Potter?"

"What mark?!" Startling upright to stare at the man as the sudden thought of what Voldemort had told his death-eaters crossed her, “There’s a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There’s a Death Eater here — they put my name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end —” Moody pushing her back down as she stumbled to her feet,

“I know who the Death Eater is,” 

“Karkaroff?” her heartbeat racing, “Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?”

“Karkaroff?” Moody asked with an odd laugh, “Karkaroff fled tonight when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the Dark Lord to wish to meet them . . . but I doubt he will get far. The Dark Lord has ways of tracking his enemies.”

“Karkaroff’s gone? Did he run away? But then — he didn’t put my name in the goblet?”

“No, no, he didn’t. It was I who did that.” 

“No, you didn’t, you...”

“I assure you I did,” his magical eye swinging around and fixing upon the door as he drew his wand, aiming it in her direction, "How did you get that mark, Potter?"

"I...I don't know what you mean." Moody making a noise of anger in response to her answer as he returned to the book, running across a line repeatedly as his eyes swept back and forth before they darted to her neck.

"Did he touch you?" 

"He said that because of the...the ritual," was she going to die? after her fight to escape, was it all for nothing? "That he could touch me now, and then he did..."

"What happened when he touched you, Potter?"

"I saw..." glancing at the door desperately, "I saw things."

"What did you see?" his wand growing impossibly closer, pressing against the skin of her neck as her breath caught in her throat.

"I don't..." 

Moody, clearly having of grown impatient withdrew his wand, moving it in the next second as the spell left his mouth, "Legilimens!" the memories rushed forward at once upon command, his hand across her throat, the very scenes she'd saw as he had, how he withdrew immediately, his hesitance to hurt her.

She was on the floor as the spell ended, gasping desperately for air once more. 

"How dare you..." If Moody was angry earlier, he was now murderous, "How dare you even dare to link your _pathetic_ life to his?"

“You’re mad,” she gasped, scrambling backward as his wand aimed at her once more, “you’re mad!”

“Mad, am I?" Moody's voice rose uncontrollably, “We’ll see! We’ll see who’s mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back, Heather Potter, you did not conquer him — and now — I conquer you!” raising his wand as he opened his mouth; plunging her own hand into her robes in a last-ditch attempt to fight-

“Stupefy!”

A blinding flash of red light flooded the room as the door of Moody's office blasted apart with a great splintering and cracking sound, Moody was thrown away from her as she sat still, terrified with her hand still gripped against her wand in her pocket, staring up at where Moody had been to see Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall looking back at her.

Heather understood at once why Dumbledore was supposedly the only man Voldemort feared, remembering with a discomforting feeling the deep-driven distrust that did not belong to her in the graveyard, the look upon Dumbledore's face doing no good to chase away the feeling returning to grip at her heart and soul. No benign smile, no twinkle, cold fury in every line of his face.

McGonagall went straight to her at once whilst Dumbledore kicked Moody onto his back, McGonagall pulling her to her feet as her lip twitched as though she was about to cry.

"Come along, Heather..." a motherly hand trying to smooth down her hair as she pulled Heather to her feet, “Come along . . . hospital wing . . .”

“No,” 

“Dumbledore, she ought to — look at her — she’s been through enough tonight —”

“She will stay, Minerva, because she needs to understand,” Dumbledore interrupted, “Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. She needs to know who has put her through the ordeal she has suffered tonight, and why.”

"I want to see Padfoot," Heather protested at once.

"Heather," Dumbledore did not look at her immediately, "I understand, if I thought it would help you, I would let you leave right now. But it will only make it much worse when you have to face it." 

"It's not Moody," Heather managed in response, her desire to leave replaced with hope to speed the process up.

“You have never known Alastor Moody." Dumbledore confirmed, "The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew — and I followed.” Dumbledore bending down over Moody’s limp form and putting a hand inside his robes before freeing Moody’s hip flask and a set of keys on a ring, turning next to Professors McGonagall and Snape, 

“Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid’s house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.”

"Thank you." Heather managed at once as they left, Dumbledore giving a small nod in recognition of her appreciation of Sirius's promised presence before walking to the trunk with seven locks, fitting the first key in the lock, and opening it.

She looked as he did this through the many locks to the discarded book on the floor, crouching slowly and lifting it closer to her eyes,

_**Binding Spells Vol 506** _

“Stunned — controlled by the Imperius Curse — very weak,” Dumbledore narrated, recapturing her attention as she looked at once to him, “Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Heather, throw down the imposter’s cloak — he’s freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger.”

She dropped the book at once, doing as she was told as Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak, tucking it tightly around him before picking up the hip flask from the desk, unscrewing it and tipping it over as a thick liquid splattered onto the floor.

“Polyjuice Potion, Heather, you see the simplicity of it and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he’s well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair . . .” Dumbledore looking down on the Moody in the trunk, “The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done . . . on the hour . . . every hour. . . . We shall see.”

He freed the chair once more that she'd been sat on minutes prior before gesturing her back into it as minutes passed in silence, watching as the man on the floor slowly began to change, his scars disappearing as the skin smoothed, the long mane of grizzled hair withdrawing and turning the color of straw as a loud clunk followed, the wooden leg falling away replaced by a normal leg, fake eyeball popping out and replaced with a real one.

She didn't recognize the man eventually revealed before her immediately, pale-skinned with slight freckles and a mop of fair hair. A moment passing before her eyes widened with recognition after a moment, remembering him as the man in Dumbledore's Pensieve, how he had been led from the court, convincing as desperately as he could to Mr Crouch that he was innocent.

Snape returned with Winky at his heels seconds later, Professor McGonagall behind them.

“Crouch!” Snape stopped dead in the doorway, “Barty Crouch!”

“Good heavens,” Professor McGonagall staring down at the man on the floor before a disheveled Winky next peered around Snape’s legs, her mouth opening wide and releasing a piercing shriek, 

“Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?” flinging herself forward onto the young man’s chest, “You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master’s son!”

“He is simply Stunned, Winky,” Dumbledore corrected, “Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?”

McGonagall was at her side once more as Dumbledore took the potion, moving to drop it into the man's mouth, her hand resting firmly on her shoulder. 

“Rennervate.” Crouch’s son opening his eyes at once, his face was slack as Dumbledore knelt before him, so that their faces were level, “Can you hear me?” Dumbledore asked quietly as the man’s eyelids flickered, 

“Yes,” he muttered,

“I would like you to tell us,” Dumbledore began softly, “how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?”

Heather felt as though she was sleepwalking as Crouch's son narrated the story, of how he had come to where he was before them. Almost able to convince herself that the whole thing had been one horrid nightmare, her body aching with the overwhelming desire to fall into bed and sleep off the agony.

"My master’s plan worked. He is returned to power using the blood stolen from Potter and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards once I have finished what he started.” 

"Finish what?"

"To kill Potter," vomit threatened to rise in her throat as his eyes turned unblinkingly toward her, "She is a threat to his life, and I cannot allow her to walk away after what she did tonight."

She raised her hand immediately to the mark on her neck, eyes finding that discarded book once more as Dumbledore's eyes seemed to follow, her feet taking her to the book as she picked it up from the ground.

“Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Heather upstairs?”

“Of course,” McGonagall appearing as nauseous as Heather despite her steady hand now aiming her wand at Barty.

“Severus” — Dumbledore turned to Snape — “please tell Madam Pomfrey to come down here; we need to get Alastor Moody into the hospital wing. Then go down into the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to this office. He will undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the hospital wing in half an hour’s time if he needs me.” Snape nodding silently as he swept from the room at once.

“Heather?" Dumbledore next questioned, her gaze slowly finding his as she pulled the book tighter to her chest, realizing as she did that she was trembling. Grateful that Dumbledore took her arm and guided her to walk out into the dark corridor, “I want you to come up to my office first, Heather,” his voice quiet as they headed up the passageway, “Sirius is waiting for us there.”

Heather nodded, resolving that she didn’t want to have to think about anything that had happened since she had first touched the Triwizard Cup, wanting anything else than to examine the memories that were as fresh and sharp as photographs.

Sirius's face was as white and gaunt as it had been when he had escaped Azkaban, crossing the room toward them in one swift movement.

“Heather, are you all right? I knew it — I knew something like this — what happened?”

Sirius's hands were shaking as he took her shoulders with the intention of guiding her toward the chair, Heather responding by dropping the book in her hands in favor of wrapping them around his waist, pressing her face into his chest as though it could hide her from the world. Sirius accepting this movement for what it was and instead turning his face toward Dumbledore for answers.

“What happened?” Dumbledore repeated everything Barty Crouch had said, her brain refusing to listen as she tried to still the incoming sob at the thought of everything she'd gone through in the past two hours.

“I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Heather,” Dumbledore spoke softly once he'd finished his explanation, her head managing the shake of a _no_ into Sirius's chest.

“We can leave that till morning, can’t we, Dumbledore?” Sirius fought, pulling her closer, “Let her sleep. Let her rest.”

"Heather," Dumbledore took no notice of Sirius, her eyes reluctantly turning to his blue ones as his hand outstretched toward her which she reluctantly, his other hand immediately moving to rest over it, "If I thought I could help you, by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.”

"Heather." Sirius spoke first, picking up the book she'd discarded, "What is this?"

Heather, for what felt like the hundredth time that night, had no answers. Turning back to Dumbledore in search of them.

"I wish I could tell you, Heather. But we must put the pieces together."

Sirius was quick to guide her into a chair as Fawkes immediately swooped down onto her knee, focusing on stroking the bird as she retold everything from the potion to Cedric's body. Each word feeling as if they were something poisonous being extracted from her. There was a noise of exclamation from Sirius as she retold of Wormtail piercing her arm with the dagger, Dumbledore moving so fast that she startled as he requested for her arm, her body obeying and revealing the deep cut within her forearm, 

“He said my blood would make him stronger than if he’d used someone else’s,” she explained shakily, “He said the protection my — my mother left in me — he’d have it too. And he was right — he could touch me without hurting himself, he..."

"What happened?" 

"He went to touch my face, and I...I panicked, so I spat in his face."

Sirius made a noise of prideful laughter in response as she nor Dumbledore paid focus to the brief interruption, tears relentlessly building in her eyes, "And the next thing I knew, he was choking me, and..." 

"What did you see, Heather?"

Heather had no energy left to question how he'd known she'd seen something, "They felt like my memories," Fawkes was pressing against her hand now, trying to remind her that he was there, "But...I..."

"But they do not feel like yours?" nodding slowly, "That is alright, Heather. You can say what you saw, what you felt even."

"It was horrible," she confessed, "There was an orphanage, and I saw...I saw you," she had never been scared of Dumbledore before, and the very memory brought that unfamiliar feeling back, "And I was...scared, distrustful even, but I've never felt like that before-"

"I know, Heather." Dumbledore quickly reassured, "I know these emotions were not yours."

"I felt so angry," unable to shake free the feeling that she was betraying a part of her for saying any of this, "Angry at everyone I saw, I wanted to...I wanted to hurt the people around me." Dumbledore did not make any move to speak, so she continued, "And then there was a ring, a necklace...a diadem, a cup, a snake...the snake was his, and then there was a baby."

"A baby?" Sirius questioned, Dumbledore holding up a hand to silence him.

"What happened next?"

"And then I was back in the graveyard, he let me go, and he stopped for a moment before continuing, but he kept..." shaking her head as if the movement would shake his gaze from her memory, "He kept looking at me as if he could see inside my head." retelling more of his speech before reaching that very point where he'd truly hesitated.

"He hesitated?" 

"I think..." Heather began, "I was so certain he was...he was going to kill me, and then he stopped. He turned away, before telling them of his plot to get me, to find a chance to grab me, and then he said how he would prove that I would not defeat him. That we would duel. He told me to bow, to not forget my manners...and then he told me to face him as my father had."

Sirius made an immediate noise of anger at this.

"But he didn't give me a chance, he used Crucio before I could even think, and then it stopped, he asked me what I'd done, and I...I..." she was still so confused, all she wanted was for someone, _anyone_ , to give her answers, to answer the same questions she'd had demanded of her that night, "He used crucio again, but this time...it hurt him."

"It hurt him?" 

"I didn't see, but his death-eaters swarmed to help him, so I tried to run, but someone used Crucio again..."

"No wonder why you're shaking," Sirius whispered, his hands now finding her hair in a parental attempt at smoothing it out.

"He stopped them," staring toward Dumbledore as she spoke, willing him to answer the silent question, "He tortured them, said that they could not touch me. So I grabbed Cedric, I couldn't leave him behind."

She didn't want to speak anymore, glancing to Sirius to find him rubbing his face in worry, Fawkes now crying gently across the wound in her leg from the spider.

“I will say it again,” Dumbledore spoke softly, “You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Heather. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard’s burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you to return to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace . . . Sirius, would you like to stay with her?”

"But, Professor..." Heather began at once, "What..." her hand finding her neck, "What happened to me? Moody mentioned a mark, but..."

"Are you sure you would not like to rest first, Heather?" Sirius asked, "I don't think you should..."

Any protests her god-father had were silenced as Dumbledore conjured a mirror, outstretching it to her as she hesitantly took it. Heather finding the difference at once, a dark mark burned into her skin, inflamed and angry at where it looked as if a hot poker had burned at her flesh. Her shaking fingers hovering over where it trailed across the base of her neck in the form of a hand, her hand holding onto the mirror dropping it at once in fright caught by Dumbledore's wordless spell, too busy to see him moving it back to his desk by the time she'd reached her feet, moving to flee from the room-

"Sit down, Heather." Sirius catching her arm as Dumbledore too rose to his feet,

"What..." placing her own hands over her neck in a bid to hide it, "What is that!?"

"Heather," her heart felt as if it was bound to flee from her chest, barely able to focus in on what Dumbledore was saying, "Did you see Voldemort's hand?"

"No," she answered after a moment, unable to place amongst everything that had happened a moment when she'd seen his hand, in place of the wand aiming at her with the intention to **kill.**

"Very well. But I suspect if you had, you would've found a very similar mark."

"You don't mean..." Sirius began, silenced by a sharp look from Dumbledore, 

"I will tell you in very plain words, Heather." Dumbledore promised, "But I would like for you to try and remain calm, for we will try and resolve it, to undo what has happened."

Heather could barely nod.

"The mark is one that is created once soulmates have touched each other. It is a very cruel twist of fate and one that should never have happened..." 

"I need some air," tugging herself free from her god-father, overwhelmed by the feeling as if she was going to vomit, "I need..."

"Heather," Sirius trying, and almost failing, to stop her as she moved for the door,

"Heather, it's alright," Dumbledore moving from behind his desk.

"What..." her legs felt as if they were going to give out, her vision swimming, "What does that mean, soul-mates?"

"It means very well what you think it means in the end, Heather." Dumbledore confirmed, "It will now be very hard for either of you to try cause harm to each other, against the instinct from the bond. That will be why he hesitated, why you were unable to try to duel him, why he tortured a death-eater for inflicting that curse upon you."

"Is that why Crouch wanted me dead?"

"Yes."

She was trying to understand, but her brain refused to hold onto anything the man was saying, waving her hand to try to explain her confusion, "But he did hurt me,"

"He was given a warning the first time, however, I believe the second attempt, he was punished by the link. That is why the death-eaters rushed to help him."

"And if I tried to kill him?"

"You would face the same fate." turning to her god-father now, desperate that he'd have something to say, to wipe it all away. Barely taking in his own white expression as darkness bled into the corners of her vision, his hand catching her arm as the world went dark.


	2. you'll never get free, lamb to the slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I’ll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you’re just some stupid girl who’s a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because she loves being famous and wants to keep it going.”

Sirius was still there the next morning, sleeping at her feet in the form of a large black dog, his coat draped over the top of her. Blissfully allowed to believe that the entire horrific idea of soul-mates had been a nightmare for all of five minutes, Dumbledore sweeping into the Hospital Wing like an oncoming storm.

The storm that had become her headmaster had her up and out of Hogwarts within the hour, barely explaining that he had agreed with Sirius overnight that Heather would stay with him at his home. That the soul-bound between her and Lord Voldemort might destroy the protections that had once kept her at her aunt and uncle's home. Unable to see her friends or anyone else before escorted via port-key. Zipped up jackets turning into turtleneck shirts.

Yet hiding from the Wizarding World, her skin or anything the Prophet was publishing, didn't hide her from the nightmares. Filled to the brim with dreams of death and pain. Waking up crying and screaming in her god-fathers arms before dawn each morning, her next waking hours spent trying to calm down and remember _who_ she was, to peer through the increasingly blurry line that separated her from the mad-man who killed her parents.

It took Sirius two weeks before he caved, a question that had been sat at the end of his tongue since that night in the Graveyard finally spilling out at breakfast, "What does it feel like?"

"What?" Heather murmured, swirling her spoon around in the soggy remains of her cereal,

"The dreams."

Remus returned from the kitchen at the sound of this question, hovering anxiously by the door as Heather doubled her focus onto her cereal, shrugging in the hopes of appearing disinterested or unbothered.

"Empty." elaborating of a second, "Empty of any feelings or thoughts that are my own."

"Dumbledore has been looking into breaking it," Remus spoke up, her god-father making a small movement as though Remus had startled him as Heather gloomily looked upwards at him, "Sever the bond."

This information had brought her such joy when she'd first heard it, a glimmer of hope that she could be cut free from Voldemort, but now it twisted at her stomach unpleasantly, "So that I can kill him, right?" 

Remus immediately drew closer, "We're doing it for you." his hand squeezing at her shoulder as he settled into a seat beside her, "It's not healthy."

Heather knew that it wasn't healthy. The loss of her individuality with each passing day was enough to remind her of that, the panic and self-hatred preventing her from ever thinking about her dreams in too much detail. Yet the physical or mental pain didn't make up for the one feeling that had been biting at her for weeks. The violation that came with every reminder that for every memory she saw of his, he saw a memory of hers. Every emotion she had felt in her life a blinding contrast to the lack of she'd felt in his.

"Anyways, the Weasley's will be coming tonight." Sirius spoke, attempting to pull her from her grim thoughts, "That'll be nice, won't it?"

This wasn't pleasant information, "How am I supposed to explain the giant handprint across my throat?" her hand playing at the collar of her shirt.

"Hermione and Ron have been told that what you went through was traumatic." Remus reminded, "That they aren't to pressure you for answers." 

Heather thought that it went unsaid to everyone around her that Heather was now broken goods, a risk to herself and others if they didn't fix the soul-bond. Cursing Voldemort for ever laying his hands on her or turning his eyes in her direction in the first place. For making her more broken than she was the day she'd been made an orphan. Excusing herself after both Sirius and Remus made a valiant display of attempting normal conversation and disappearing into one of the many study's in the home.

She'd fought tooth and nail for the right to read into the bond, and she hadn't wasted a single second after Dumbledore gave her the green light to find out everything and anything she could. Each tome sinking her even further into the pit of despair that breaking the bond wasn't even possible.

The mark for one was stubborn. Madame Pomfrey had hoped for it to be a particularly bad burn that could be fixed, her magic and potions failing to even lighten the mark. The potion sent by Professor Snape at Dumbledore's request merely taking down the swelling that Madame Pomfrey's attempts had left behind. Leaving behind one handprint coiled around the base of her throat in the appearance of a healed burn.

Everything that related to the soul-bound was described in every tome she read as being sticky, almost as if someone had grabbed their lives and used a permanent sticking charm to both of them, a list now resting in the back of one of the tomes detailing the information she'd worked into an easy-to-understand list in a last-ditch attempt to try to make light of the situation.

But even the writing at the very top of the page reading that " ** _Voldemort now gets punished for every attempt on my life_**." wasn't enough to make the situation feel any less end-of-world like.

Below that was small points and explanations, how the nightmares were meant to be in the forms of _dreams_ (anything that involved Voldemort would never be a dream to her.) to allow a deep understanding between two people that no other could have with either of the two. AKA, nobody would ever understand Voldemort in the way that Heather Potter would.

Unfortunately for Heather, all she'd ever known and wanted to know, was that Voldemort was a mass-murdering loon who'd killed her parents. The man who had now left two permanent scars on her skin.

The third was what was truly at stake between them, and what now belonged to both of them. Their magic is the biggest thing, where once it had belonged to each individual, it was now one whole part of them both. (Which had explained the sudden intensity of previously simple spells such as Lumos.)

At least Heather knew that if things ever got too bleak, she could wipe out his magic along with his life at the same time for the measly cost of hers, a fate her god-father and Professor Dumbledore wanted her to stray far away from. To focus instead on how she was now stronger (again, going undersaid that it wasn't just 'she' who was stronger, it was _they_ who were stronger together.) 

Dumbledore had tried to comfort her that she need not worry about being harmed as a result of the bond, that Voldemort was far too self-involved to ever harm himself, even for the reward of hurting Heather Potter. Yet Heather would rather he be waiting at her door for the chance to smite her rather than interested in self-preservation. 

The Weasley's arrived hours later, Sirius finding her and dragging her from her piles of books to meet with her friends. Self-consciously keeping her hand near the collar of her shirt to make sure it wasn't going to slip down as she walked up the stairs alone after prying free from Mrs Weasley's tight hug that had left her breathless. Barely catching a glimpse of the gloomy high-ceiling room before a loud twittering noise and even louder screech pierced her eardrums, her vision blurred by a large quantity of bushy hair that belonged to Hermione Granger, Ron’s tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zooming excitedly round and round their heads.

“HEATHER! Ron, she’s here, Heather’s here! We didn’t hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have - we couldn’t send you anything, Dumbledore told us that we wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you, and you’ve got to tell us —"

Ron at some point during this had moved behind her to close the door, “Let her breathe, Hermione,” 

Hermione was still beaming as she let go of Heather, allowing her eyes to turn to Ron. He had grown several more inches during their time apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever. Though the familiarity of his long nose, bright red hair, and freckles remained.  
  


"We've missed you." Hermione's grin was now replaced by a troubled expression, her eyes flickering over Heather's appearance so quickly that she almost missed it, "How have you been?"

"Dumbledore said that-" Ron's face screwed up as though catching himself about to say something terrible, Hermione quickly taking over for him,

"What you went through, Heather, we just wanted you to know..." her hand reaching out to take Heather by the elbow, "That we're here for you. No matter what."

"I know." fixing what she hoped to be a reassuring smile and gesturing vaguely toward the door, opening her mouth to speak when a sharp crack of apparition startled them, Fred and George appearing within the room, Hermione screaming out, "-AARGH! Stop doing that!” 

“Hello, Heather,” George spoke, beaming at Heather and ignoring Hermione,

“You two passed your Apparation tests?" Heather asked,

“With distinction,” Fred answered, holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.

“It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs,” Ron scolded,

“Time is Galleons, little brother,” Fred teased, “Anyway, Heather." holding up the string enough for her to see, "We’re trying to hear what’s going on downstairs.”

“You want to be careful,” said Ron, staring at the ear. “If Mum sees one of them again . . .”

“It’s worth the risk, that’s a major meeting they’re having,” Fred replied, the door opening behind them as a long mane of red hair appeared, Ginny appearing looking bright and cheery,

“Oh hello, Heather!" turning to Fred and George, “It’s no go with the Extendable Ears, she’s gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.”

“How d’you know?” George asked, looking crestfallen.

“Tonks told me how to find out, you just chuck stuff at the door and if it can’t make contact the door’s been Imperturbed. I’ve been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there’s no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap.”

Fred heaved a deep sigh. “Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape’s been up to.”

“Snape?” Heather asked, “Is he here?”

“Yeah,” George carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. “Giving a report. Top secret.”

“Git,” Fred grumbled,

“He’s on our side now,” Hermione insisted as Ron snorted,

“Doesn’t stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . .”

“Bill doesn’t like him." Ginny reasoned, as though that was the end of the topic. Heather perking up at once, 

“Is Bill here? I thought I saw him downstairs."

"Yeah." Fred answered, "He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order, he says he misses the tombs, but,” smirking, “there are compensations. . . .”

“Huh?”

“Remember old Fleur Delacour?” George asked, “She’s got a job at Gringotts to eemprove ’er Eeenglish —”

“— and Bill’s been giving her a lot of private lessons,” Fred sniggered,

“Charlie’s in the Order too, but he’s still in Romania, Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie’s trying to make contacts on his days off.”

“Couldn’t Percy do that?” Heather asked, stiffening as at those words all the Weasley's and Hermione exchanged dark looks, Ron tugging Heather closer to mumble to her,

“Whatever you do, don’t mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad,”

“Because every time Percy’s name’s mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he’s holding and Mum starts crying,” Fred finished.

“It’s been awful,” Ginny sighed, George's face overcome with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

“I think we’re well shut of him,” 

“What’s happened?” Heather asked,

“Percy and Dad had a row,” Fred replied, “I’ve never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It’s normally Mum who shouts. . . .”

“It was the first week back after term ended,” Ron continued, "Percy came home and told us he’d been promoted.”

Heather couldn't help but scoff. Despite knowing that Percy was highly ambitious, she'd been given the impression that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Having of committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort.

“Yeah, we were all surprised, because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn’t going to complain. . . .”

“So how come they promoted him?”

“That’s exactly what we wondered,” Ron replied, “He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that — and told Dad he’d been  
offered a position in Fudge’s own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think.”

“Only Dad wasn’t,” said Fred grimly.

"Because apparently, Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody’s having any contact with Dumbledore,” said George.

“Dumbledore’s name’s mud with the Ministry these days, see,” said Fred. “They all think he’s just making trouble saying You-KnowWho’s back.”

“Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who’s in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks,” said George. 

“Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he’s friendly with Dumbledore, and he’s always thought Dad’s a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession. So Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore.”

“Bet Percy loved that.” Ron laughing in a hollow sort of way,

“He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he’s been having to struggle against Dad’s lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad’s got no ambition and that’s why we’ve always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —”

“What?” Heather asked in disbelief, Ginny making a noise like an angry cat.

“I know, and it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and  
that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn’t belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He’s living here in London now.”  
  
“Mum’s been in a right state,” Ron continued, “You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s’pose.” 

“But Percy must know Voldemort’s back,” Heather managed, her fingers playing at her collar again, “He’s not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn’t risk everything without proof —”

“Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row, Percy said the only evidence was your word and . . . I dunno . . . he didn’t think it was good enough.”

“Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously,” Hermione finished, Heather raising an eyebrow in response as her friend immediately tensed, stumbling for words, “Haven’t — haven’t you been getting the Daily Prophet?” 

Heather wasn't sure how to respond, let alone explain that her god-father had decided it best for her to not exhaust herself with worry about the outside world while she was trying to pull herself back together. Shrugging helplessly as Hermione thankfully continued, 

“Well, you’d need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they — um — they mention you a couple of times a week - I’m not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you’re a standing joke.” pausing for a moment to speak in a voice of forced calm, “It’s quite nasty, actually, they’re just building on Rita’s stuff.”

“But she’s not writing for them anymore, is she?”

“Oh no, she’s kept her promise — not that she’s got any choice, but she laid the foundation for what they’re trying to do now.” 

“Which is...?"

“Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?” not waiting for Heather's answer, "Well, they’re writing about you as though you’re this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks she’s a great tragic hero or something, they keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears they say something like ‘a tale worthy of Heather Potter’ and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it’s ‘let’s hope he hasn’t got a scar on his forehead or we’ll be asked to worship him next —’ ”

“I don’t want anyone to worship —”

“I know you don’t, but you see what they’re doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I’ll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you’re just some stupid girl who’s a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because she loves being famous and wants to keep it going.”

Heather could feel her face burning with emotions that tied between rage and distress, “I didn’t ask — I didn’t want — _Voldemort killed my parents_!” borderline clutching to her collar now, “I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn’t kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don’t they think I’d rather it’d never —”

“We know, Heather," Ginny whispered, 

"And then there are all these rumours," Hermione was speaking very fast now, "About how you came back with something called a soul-mark, and how you've got another scar now that you're going to create a drama about-"

She felt as though she was about to explode, her throat tightening unpleasantly as Fred thankfully interrupted Hermione,

“Uh-oh.” giving the Extendable Ear a hearty tug before he and George vanished. Mrs. Weasley appearing in the bedroom doorway seconds later.

“The meeting’s over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone’s dying to see you, Heather. And who’s left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?”

“Crookshanks,” Ginny answered, “He loves playing with them.”


	3. leave everything that is worth a single cent & just take me instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since the Graveyard, he'd experienced far too many emotions that had until that point been nonexistent to him.

"You requested to see me, my lord?"

It's Severus Snape that pulls him from his thoughts, red eyes snapping up from another book he'd sent for that told him nothing which he wanted to hear. The form of Severus Snape hovering by the doorway, already bracing himself for an inevitable _Crucio_.

Severus Snape wasn't stupid, and Voldemort had never taken him as such. Yet he had danced around asking for help from the Potion's Master, admitting that no matter where he turned, he couldn't see a way out of what fate had thrown him into, "Yes. Sit, Severus."

He allowed Severus his time to settle himself into the chair, flickering through a few more pages before slamming it shut in frustration and endlessly sending it away from him before he set it alight. Turning his eyes onto Severus, already knowing what his only solution was, "I need you to tell me everything you know about Potter."

"Potter?" Severus repeated,

"Is she aware?" sighing loudly in frustration at Severus's hesitation, of course, Dumbledore would have him on orders to keep hush about the whole thing, "I know you are not stupid, Severus. I respect this quality. I know as well as you do the very situation we have found ourselves in."

Perhaps realizing there was no way out of the conversation they were about to have, Severus lowered his head, "Yes, my lord."

"So, tell me. What are they planning?"

"Dumbledore is seeking a method to break the bond, my lord." that was entirely unsurprising, "He wishes for me to look into this matter further."

It seemed as though for once in their lives, his interests had aligned with Dumbledore, the bond that now existed between him and Potter only needlessly complicated things, "And what have you found, Severus?"

"It would cause irreparable damage to you both." this wasn't the news he wanted to hear, "I doubt the girl would survive."

Usually, the idea of him causing Potter's death would have excited him, his instincts sending him to demand that Severus push this option, rid the world of Heather Potter. Unfortunately, an unsettled feeling overtook him at the prospect of Heather's death, his jaw clenching in frustration at this emotion.

Ever since the Graveyard, he'd experienced far too many emotions that had until that point been nonexistent to him. The feeling of her emotions rattling over the wavelength between them and flooding him with unexplained happiness, taking to removing himself from his Death-Eater's eyes till he could resolve it.

The dreams had been a different game altogether. If sleep had been unimportant to him before, it was now nearly something he didn't consider at all. Pushing himself to stay awake for days on end, all to avoid dreams that stirred far too many emotions of fear on her behalf, not to mention the rage. There weren't enough pages in the world to explain how incoherently angry he felt toward those who were placed in charge of the girl, her Aunt and Uncle at the top of his new kill-list.

Happiness from her had too lately become as existent as his sleep, and that pointed to nothing good, his worries filled with new knowledge about her carers and what horrible things she was going through at that very moment, "And how is the girl?"

"She is with her godfather and seems unwilling to spend very much time among anyone else." that was a relief, one he wouldn't voice out loud to Severus, "I've heard that she isn't sleeping. I have suggested a mind-healer, but Dumbledore is unwilling."

"Pray tell, is Dumbledore willing to risk the girl's death?"

"No."

"Excellent." that was _one_ risk eliminated, "You will see to it that she remains for the moment, unharmed. Untouched. Does she have any partners?"

Severus, despite looking deeply uncomfortable with the question, did well to mask it. "No, she has had many suitors, but none of yet have been successful in their pursuits to my knowledge." another risk eliminated, he was not prepared to experience just how much they were aware of the others pain and emotions in _that_ department. Nor able to trust himself not to Crucio whatever witch or wizard was responsible into the next life.

"See to it that it remains that way." 

If they couldn't break the bond, he would do all he could do to buy him time. They both needed to avoid provoking the ancient magic between them any further, to abstain from attracting the others attention through any means, "How much does the old fool know of Soul Bonds?"

"Enough to cause him a great deal of concern, my lord." 

Dumbledore wasn't the only one. Everything outlined to do with Soul Bounds was concerning, especially from Dumbledore's view-point, given that any liability via a link to the Dark Lord was something he'd avoid if he had any sense about him. And all the Soul Bound did was create the biggest liability to the Order of The Phoenix, risking their hold onto the Golden Girl should she succumb to the following stages of their bond.

The first had only been the dreams, once she was through experiencing all hellish fifty years of his life (including the 14 spent as nothing more than a pitiful ghost) she would then have to face fate trying to push them together against all sanity, effects that would stand until they finally united in consummating their bond.

Despite it'd be great entertainment to steal and ultimately ruin the Girl-Who-Lived right under Dumbledore's nose, the bond created a weakness in him. One he couldn't allow to grow, especially when a select few death-eaters were already searching for blood in the water. Not to mention the risk posed by those alike Bellatrix Le'strange catching wind and attempting to destroy Heather Potter on his behalf.

No, he had one choice. He needed to find a way to destroy the weak point in his rule before it got out, to know everything Heather Potter conversed about in private with Dumbledore, to reveal any solution to him and his more capable hands before it ended badly for them both. "Show me her, Severus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldie chapter!! also I'm slightly regretting the soul-identifying mark I chose, but whOOPS it's too late to change it now! also, let me know if you enjoyed! <3
> 
> Tumblr: https://abbiwinchxster.tumblr.com/  
> Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/ekatsim


	4. outrunning karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather Potter was weak. And that weakness that had once been something he could exploit, was now a weakness to him.

‘Heather!’ Mr Weasley was the first she saw as she entered the kitchen, shaking her hand vigorously. ‘Good to see you!’ spying over his shoulder Bill Weasley, his hair still in the usual long ponytail, peering up as he rolled up lengths of parchment, calling over to her,

"How are you, Heather?" Tonks striding over to help Bill as he spoke, immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment and with it taking Bill's attention back to the papers, ‘Oh no – sorry –’

‘Here, dear,’ Mrs Weasley spoke in an exasperated tone as she repaired the parchment, Heather spying what appeared to be a plan of a building before Mrs Weasley snatched it from the table, thrusting it into Bill's arms whilst snapping at all of them, ‘This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,’ sweeping off towards an ancient dresser to unload dinner plates, Sirius taking Heather's arm as Bill made the rolls of parchment disappear,

‘Sit down, Heather, you’ve met Mundungus, haven’t you?’

‘Some’n say m’name?’ Mundungus mumbled sleepily, ‘I ’gree with Sirius ...’ raising a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused as Ginny giggled somewhere from behind Heather, Sirius still pulling her toward a chair,

"The meeting’s over, Dung, say hi to Heather."

‘Eh?’ Mundungus peering balefully at her through his matted ginger hair, 'Blimey, so she ’as. Yeah ... you all right, ’Eather?’

‘Yeah,’ turning as Mrs Weasley called out to them,

‘If you want dinner before midnight I’ll need a hand,’ waving away Heather as she moved to stand again, "No, you can stay where you are, Heather dear." Tonks enthusiastically bounding over to her,

‘What can I do, Molly?’

‘Er – no, it’s all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you’ve done enough today.’

‘No, no, I want to help!’ Tonks knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser, from which Ginny was collecting cutlery, leaving Heather sat with Sirius and Mundungus, 

‘Sirius,’ Mundungus spoke, minutely examining an empty goblet. ‘This solid silver, mate?’

‘Yes,’ Sirius answered, surveying it with distaste. ‘Finest fifteenth-century goblinwrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.’

‘That’d come orf, though,’ he muttered, polishing it with his cuff as Mrs Weasley's shriek cut across the kitchen,

‘Fred – George – NO, JUST CARRY THEM!’ looking around just as Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with a knife, all of which hurtling toward them. The stew came to a halt at the end of the table, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, its content's exploding across the flooring, and the bread knife, almost in slow motion, landed point down.

There was a second of silence as this happened, broken by the sudden scream leaving Ginny. Sudden pain flaring through Heather's hand as she turned to look, screaming herself at the sight of the knife now impaled within it, aware of several people shouting as Sirius and Mr Weasley crowded Heather, Sirius pulling the knife free as Mrs Weasley quickly and expertly healed the wound left behind, Heather still hyperventilating in terror as Sirius embraced her so tightly that she disappeared into his jacket.

‘THERE WAS NO NEED -" Mrs Weasley screamed, Heather staring into the darkness she'd been pulled into by her god-father in shock, "I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS – JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON’T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!’

Where there had been a split-second of terror and pain at a knife sticking out of her hand, there was now only one point of terror. Of the bond. Her brain terrifyingly occupied with what just happened to Voldemort because of that incident, whether he had experienced her pain. 

Part of her reasoned that he probably would find it entertaining that she'd been hurt, the other part of her worried that perhaps he would think she'd done it on purpose. That he might retaliate.

"Heather?" Sirius was whispering to her, "You're okay."

‘We were just trying to save a bit of time!’ Fred cried from somewhere off in the room, "Heather, I'm so sorry-"

"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!’ Mrs Weasley raged, ‘Bill didn’t feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn’t charm everything he met! Percy –’ Mrs Weasley stopped dead, Heather pulling free of her god-father and trying to smile reassuringly toward him whilst checking her hand, anxiously awaiting what felt like certain revenge from Voldemort as Mrs Weasley tearfully approached Heather instead, "Oh, Heather! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Heather pushed, quickly detangling herself from Mrs Weasley's help, her hand raising to rub anxiously at her neck through the fabric of her shirt as Bill quickly took over, placing a fresh flagon of Butterbeer down on the table, 

‘Let’s eat,’ Remus joining in on Bill's efforts,

‘It looks wonderful, Molly,’ Remus praised, ladling stew on to a plate for her and handing it across the table. Leaving nothing for the next few minutes but silence and the chink of plates against cutlery, everyone settling down to heir food before Mrs Weasley, determined to soothe her nerves by taking control, turned to Sirius.

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there’s something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing-room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.’

Heather hadn't eaten yet, still waiting as she stared at her plate for something. Anything. Any sign of the bond from his end. Sirius waving off Mrs Weasley, ‘Whatever you like,’ 

‘The curtains in there are full of Doxys, too,’ Mrs Weasley went on. ‘I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Sirius turning to Heather as the conversation around the table slowly began to pick up, "Not hungry, kid?" raising a concerned eyebrow as she shook her head, dropping his voice to a whisper, "What is it?"

"I just need a moment." aware of silence catching around the table as she stood, fleeing from the room as quickly as she could manage and up the stairs, collapsing into the bedroom she'd taken over when she first arrived and locking the door shut behind her just as a loud knocking came at the front door.

* * *

Voldemort had been speaking to Snape when it happened, boredly taking in everything he was being told till there was a sudden lapse in Snape's words, turning his attention back to the man who was staring at him with eyes almost big enough to rival dinner-plates.

"What?"

"My lord, your hand." raising his hand to see blood trickling down into his sleeve, a deep gouge in the centre of his hand.

"Go to her."

"-My lord?"

" _GO!_ " raising to his feet as Severus quickly departed from the room, watching as the wound knitted itself back together in wonder. Wonder at the magic involved that bound them together, and wonder at his own emotions that came from seeing it in action. Any amusement that came from his long-standing hatred of Heather Potter wiped away with sudden and unexpected rage at the idea that she'd been hurt, murmuring to himself as he took in the blood now drying itself against his pale skin,

"Who?" his eyes narrowing in anger, "Who hurt you?"

Perhaps she had done it herself, Severus had reported that she'd been reading into their connection. And this was a test, to see if it was true. But that was unlike Potter, an idiot and impulsive, yes, but he didn't put her to be the type to stab herself in the hand. Reaching across the bond to feel her emotions, terror. A bulb nearby to him exploding as he felt it, the same question coming back to him, doubling itself in intensity.

 _ **Who hurt you**_?

Any earlier plans of attempting to not provoke their bond and the effects it would cause had flown out the window, pressing his hands into the wood of his desk and shutting his eyes, desperately trying to reach out across to it. He had to know, and Severus would take too long to bring him news of her back. And by that point-

 _Focus_. He had to bring his emotions back into control, maintain the strong hand he'd had wrapped around the magic of the bond since the Graveyard. He couldn't lose it all now. Finally finding the right wavelength and grabbing onto it, the terror bounding back across to him hitting him in full force as he fought to understand it, finally combing through the violent jumble of thoughts. Heather Potter feared him, of his reaction to her hurt. And the confirmation that her fear was due to him tasted bitter.

" _Masster_?" Nagini's voice brought him from his thoughts, of the irrational plan brewing in his mind to tear apart Wizarding Britain and to bring her to him, staring at the snake pushing her way through the door, " _What iss it?_ "

" _Heather Potter_." Nagini making a noise that could only be described as jealousy as she coiled her way up onto his shoulders, " _Don't be jealous, Nagini._ " closing his eyes in an attempt to soothe himself from the irrational wants of the soulbond, that his fear for her was purely for himself.

" _What good iss sshe?_ " Nagini hissed, " _Sshe iss weak._ "

Heather Potter was weak. And that weakness that had once been something he could exploit, was now a weakness to him. Without him there to protect her, anything could happen. If it was not someone seeking to hurt them both, it could be Dumbledore. Anyone around her willing to use her as a pawn to harm him.

He shouldn't, nay, couldn't, leave that weakness wandering around unprotected. Simply asking Severus to keep an eye on her was evidently not enough. After all, if he wanted something done, he had fared better doing it himself.

" _You'll grow to like her."_


	5. i see the wires pulling while you're breathing

With Lord Voldemort's mindset changing so violently from cold and distant to outright panicked over the state of Heather Potter, Severus couldn't blame himself for being a state by the time he showed up to 12 Grimmauld Place. Banging on the door as loudly as he could whilst trying to recompose himself as Molly Weasley appeared before him.

Unfortunately, Molly wasn't who he needed. He needed Sirius Black, barring that, Heather Potter herself.

"Severus, what a surprise!"

"I need to speak with Black."

"Oh-" her welcome expression changing into confusion as she beckoned him in, "Right. I'll get him." unsurprised as true to form, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin appeared before him. Noting how Sirius's eyes darted up the staircase before to Severus, his mouth curling downward,

"What?"

If Lord Voldemort hadn't looked ready to tear the world apart, he would've bickered with him. But with the world seemingly at stake, he had to bite it back, "What happened to Potter?"

Sirius was defensive at once, puffing himself up almost as if to prepare himself to physically fight Severus, "Why do you-" his face falling at once, face whipping to the stairs as he spoke, "What is it? what have you heard?"

Merlin, this was harder than it should be. Contemplating running up the stairs himself to find Potter as Remus thankfully intercepted,

"There was an incident, a knife ended up stabbing Heather. She is healed-"

Whilst grateful that Potter hadn't turned suicidal, this did not pose well for whoever threw the knife. Sirius's voice dropping dangerously, "Why? is it _him_?"

"Of course it's him." Severus snapped, trying to decide how on earth he was going to explain this to a paranoid and violent Dark Lord, "He was very concerned regarding the wound in his hand."

"Shit." Sirius turning and bolting himself up the stairs, leaving Remus to turn back to Severus with a worried expression,

"Do we need to be concerned?"

"That is up to the Headmaster to decide." Remus's eyes furrowing in clear annoyance at this, Severus deflating a little at the clear worry and terror they were feeling. The lack of communication regarding the matter that Dumbledore had provided to all parties concerned, "The good news is that he wasn't raring to get revenge."

"How warped our understanding of good news has become."

"But, one _might_ say," laying heavy emphasis on the word, knowing that Remus would understand that this was not to traced back to him, "That Potter should take extreme care. The magic involved is extremely powerful, and due care should be taken not to provoke it."

"Right. Thank you." sighing heavily as he watched Remus turn and too, disappear up the stairs, deciding as he did that tonight might just be the night that tipped him over the edge to alcoholism.

Unfortunately, he had been right. The conversation that followed with Voldemort near giving him a heart attack at the very human concern that Voldemort seemed to hold for the girl, cursing whatever idiot had thrown the knife as he made his way back to his home, and with it, his lounge-chair and a large supply of fire-whiskey.

If the bond didn't kill Voldemort or Heather, it might just kill him.

Sirius Black had definitely grown grey hairs. Nearly having to kick down his god-daughters door to check on her wellbeing to find her a heap of emotional distress, and following Remus helpfully dosing her with a calming drought, he had put his muscles to the test to carry her back to bed.

"Everything will work out in the end, you'll see."

"How could you possibly know that?" Heather croaked, her voice muffled by her face being half-buried into the pillow, "How do you know that he won't use it to get revenge?"

"Because," Sirius pressed on, "Even though the world can be dark, and uncertain, and cruel, it is nothing if we face it together." rubbing her arm comfortingly, "And if he wants to hurt you, he'll have to get through me."

"Noooo," her whine of despair almost entirely muffled as her face disappeared into the fabric, "He'll kill you!"

"Not against your protective, strong, and handsome, god-father he won't." smiling at the sniffly laugh he got in return, "Now, you need sleep." slowly getting to his feet as she made the small movement of a nod, barely stepping toward the door when her voice came again,

"Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Why me?" rolling over to face the ceiling, "Why couldn't I get a nice soulmate? someone that is _easy_ to love?"

"Nobody is easy to love." Sirius corrected, "You need to find someone who isn't easy to love, but difficult in all the right ways."

"Makes no sense." Heather muttered,

"When you find them, you'll understand."

"And who do you love?" rolling over to look toward him, brows furrowed together in deep thought, "Remus?"

" _And_ that's enough out of you." briskly walking closer to pull the covers over her face, smiling warmly at the bout of laughter that left her at this movement, "Goodnight, kid."

  
  



	6. you can't wake up, this is not a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're a menace, you know that right, Heather?"
> 
> "But you love me!"

_**CONGRATULATIONS** _   
_**RON AND HERMIONE** _   
_**NEW PREFECTS** _

Heather found herself scratching at her neck through her shirt as she stared up at the banner across the kitchen, Mrs Weasley excitedly nattering to them as they entered, "I thought we’d have a little party, not a sit-down dinner, your father and Bill are on their way, Ron. I’ve sent them both owls and they’re thrilled,’

She didn't stand there long, not wanting to dampen the mood of her friends. No matter how much Heather wanted to be happy for her, a part of her stomach was coiling up in jealousy and hatred that Dumbledore hadn't picked her, wondering if it was due to her soul-bond with Voldemort, sliding in beside Sirius at the table as Mad-Eye Moody stomped in, "Oh, Alastor, I am glad you’re here, we’ve been wanting to ask you for ages – could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing-room and tell us what’s inside it? We haven’t wanted to open it just in case it’s something really nasty."

"No problem, Molly..." watching as his electric-blue eye swivelled upwards, staring fixedly through the ceiling, "Drawing room...desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it, it’s a Boggart ... want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?"

"No, no, I’ll do it myself later," Mrs Weasley beamed, "you have your drink. We’re having a little bit of a celebration, actually.." gesturing upward at the scarlet banner, her free hand ruffling Ron's hair, "Fourth prefect in the family!"

"Prefect, eh?" Moody growled, his magical eye swivelling to gaze into the side of his head, Heather suspecting that he was looking at her and turning her face to press it into her godfather's shoulder, "Well, congratulations, authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you..."

Everyone was saved the pleasure of responding to his troubling view of the matter by Mr Weasley and Bill arriving, Mrs Weasley far too happy to even complain that Mundungus had come with them, Sirius not shaking her from his shoulder as everyone got themselves a drink, Mr Weasley raising his goblet,

"Well, I think a toast is in order, to Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!"

Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them before bursting into applause, Tonks appearing behind Heather and Sirius, "I was never a prefect myself,’ Heather noting that her appearance made her look entirely at home with the Weasley family, "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" Ginny asked as she returned with a baked potato,

"Like the ability to behave myself."

"What about you, Sirius?’ Heather raised her head as Sirius let out a bark-like laugh,

"No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."

"I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," Remus explained, "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

Knowing that her father hadn't been prefect either marginally lifted her mood, loading up her plate and settling in with Sirius, Tonks and Remus, as far away from Ron and his bragging about his broom to anyone who would listen, their peace disturbed by Hermione talking to Remus about elf rights, 

"I mean, it’s the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn’t it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they’re superior to other creatures..."

Mrs Weasley was next, dragging Bill over mid-argument regarding his hair to drag Heather into it, "...getting really out of hand, and you’re so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn’t it, Heather?"

"Oh-" Heather slightly alarmed at this, "I think he's attractive either way." yelping as an arm appeared out of nowhere to wrap over her eyes, dragging her backward,

"Heather isn't allowed to think anyone is attractive," Sirius chided, "She's too young."

"How very hypocritical of you, Sirius." Remus teased, Heather laughing as she managed to free herself from the protective arm of her godfather in time to be swept closer by Fred and George, stood in the corner with Mundungus who stopped talking when he saw Heather, Fred winking instead and wrapping an arm around her to draw her closer,

"It’s OK, we can trust Heather."

"Look what Dung’s got us," George holding out his hand to Heather, full of what looked like shrivelled black pods, a faint rattling noise coming from them, "Venomous Tentacula seeds, we need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they’re a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we’ve been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them."

"We've been saving for the joke shop, so, Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?"

"Wiv all the trouble I went to to get ’em?" Mundungus's saggy and bloodshot eyes stretching, "I’m sorry, lads, but I’m not taking a Knut under twenty."

"Dung likes his little joke," Fred told Heather,

"Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of Knarl quills,"

"This-" Heather casting a wary look at the seeds, "It's for your joke shop?"

"It's taking us a bit of time, and it'll be a while til we can afford a store-"

"You can have my Tournament winnings." Fred's arm tightening around her in shock, "I'm serious, they're in my bag upstairs." ever since Dumbledore had dropped them off she'd wanted to throw them down the drain and this seemed a better path than any, "Take them, or I'll...snitch on you."

"You wouldn't," George replied, his eyes widening in disbelief,

"I would," attempting to turn around and call for Mrs Weasley when Fred spun her back, 

"Okay, we'll take them!" grinning at the flabbergasted expression on their faces, "You're a menace, you know that right, Heather?"

"But you love me!" glancing backwards, "Be careful, Moody might have his eye on you."

"Good point, that,’ Mundungus grunted, "All right, lads, ten it is, if you’ll take ’em quick."

"Cheers, Heather!" 

Heather watched them go, feeling much lighter than she had prior to speak to them with the weight of the Tournament winnings off her shoulder, startling as she heard her voice amongst the chatter, turning her face to look at Kingsley as he spoke, his deep voice audible over the others, 

"...why Dumbledore didn’t make Potter a prefect?’

"He’ll have had his reasons," Remus answered,

"But it would’ve shown confidence in her. It’s what I’d’ve done," Kinglsey protested, "’ specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at her every few days ...’

Heather didn't want either of them to know that she'd heard, turning back to the table of food as Mrs Weasley yawned widely to Mr Weasley, "Well, I think I’ll sort out that Boggart before I turn in. Arthur, I don’t want this lot up too late, all right? Night, Heather, dear." Heather barely setting down her plate to follow after her when Moody grunted from beside her,

"You all right, Potter?"

"Yeah, fine," Heather managed, watching as he took a swig from his hipflask, his electric-blue eye staring sideways at her, "Come here, I’ve got something that might interest you," pulling from the inner pocket of his robes a very tattered photograph, "Original Order of the Phoenix, found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn’t had the manners to return my best one ... thought people might like to see it."

Heather took the photograph, a small crowd of people looking back up at her, "There’s me, and there’s Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side...that’s Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That’s Frank and Alice Longbottom –’ Heather's stomach churned unpleasantly, "– poor devils, better dead than what happened to them, and that’s Emmeline Vance, you’ve met her, and that there’s Lupin, obviously ... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him ... shift aside there, that’s Edgar Bones ... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard ... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young ... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body ... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever ... Elphias Doge, you’ve met him, I’d forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat ... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes ... budge along, budge along ..."

Not even the sight of the people in the photograph jostling along themselves could entertain Heather, her heart dropping further with each name, "That’s Dumbledore’s brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke, that’s Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally...Sirius, when he still had short hair...and there you go, thought that would interest you!"

She was certain her food was going to tear its way back out of her throat, her mother and father beaming back up at her, sitting on either side of a small, water-eyed man which Heather recognized as Wormtail, "Eh?" realizing as she looked back up into Moody's heavily scarred face that he was under the impression of giving her a treat, 

"Yeah," Heather managed,

"You'll need to stay on your toes, Potter." he continued, "'Specially with that mark." Sirius appearing as Heather's hand flew up, placing itself over her throat defensively, 

"What’s that you’ve got there, MadEye?"

Nobody got the chance to call Heather back, slipping through the door within seconds, her heart roaring in her ears as she stumbled up the stairs, barely hearing the sobbing coming from the drawing-room as she stilled to a stop, nervously creeping closer to the room,

"Hello?"

Someone was cowering against the dark wall as she entered, their wand in hand, shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.

"Mrs Weasley?" Heather whimpered, her head whipping back in confusion, Ron had just been in the dining room, he couldn't be-

"R – r – riddikulus!" Mrs Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron’s body as with a crack Ron's body turned into Bill's, Mrs Weasley sobbing harder than ever, "R – riddikulus!" another crack, Mr Weasley's body replacing Bill's, "‘No ... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!"

Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy.  
Crack. Dead Heather.

"Mrs Weasley!" Heather called, far too terrified to approach her own dead body, "Get-" her chest constricting at the sight, her brain spurring into overdrive with terror at the prospect of her own mortality, "Get out-"

"What's going on?" Remus was a god-send to see, Sirius and Moody closely following behind him as Remus seemed to understand within an instant, pulling out his own wand and speaking very firmly, "Riddikulus!"

Heather's body vanished, leaving behind a silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain, waving his wand again as the orb vanished in a puff of smoke, 

"Oh – oh – oh!" Mrs Weasley gulped, breaking into a storm of crying, her face in her hands, Remus approaching her as she threw herself into his arms, sobbing her heart out on his shoulder,

"Molly, it was just a Boggart, just a stupid Boggart..."

"I see them d – d – dead all the time!’ Mrs Weasley moaned into his shoulder. ‘All the t – t – time! I d – d – dream about it..."

Sirius was still staring at the patch of carpet where Heather's body had been, timidly stepping closer to him as he seemed unaware of her movement, Mrs Weasley still sobbing, "D – d – don’t tell Arthur, I d – d – don’t want him to know ... being silly ...’ blowing her nose into the handkerchief Remus offered, "Heather, I’m so sorry. What must you think of me? not even able to get rid of a Boggart..."

"No, don't be silly..." Heather managed,

"I’m just s – s – so worried, half the f – f –family’s in the Order, it’ll b – b – be a miracle if we all come through this ... and P – P – Percy’s not talking to us ... what if something d – d – dreadful happens and  
we’ve never m – m – made it up with him? And what’s going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who’s g – g – going to look after Ron and Ginny?’

‘Molly, that’s enough,’ Remus interrupted firmly, "This isn’t like last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to –’ Mrs Weasley squeaking at the sound of the name, "Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing his name – look, I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time. You weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one..."

The photograph flashed into Heather's memories again, near startling as her godfather moved from behind her, pulling her into his back to squeeze her tightly, pressing a kiss onto the top of her hair before addressing Mrs Weasley,

"Don’t worry about Percy, he’ll come round. It’s only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry’s going to be begging us to forgive them. And I’m not sure I’ll be accepting their apology."

"And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," Remus continued, "what do you think we’d do, let them starve?’

This seemed to comfort Mrs Weasley, mopping her eyes as she muttered, "Being silly."

It took around twenty minutes to squeeze her way from the room, unable to shake the image of her parents grinning back up at her in the photograph, her hand scratching at her neck as she dropped onto the end of her bed. She felt like a traitor, like something that had gone severely wrong, that it was something she'd done to become the soul-mate of the man that had done this to the Order. How she could stand there, where Mrs Weasley who had become a mother to her sobbed in fear of that same man murdering everyone she loved. Sirius's expression at the sight of her dead body winding its way back into her head.

It was as her heart trembled a little at the thought that her forehead seared with pain, her hand rising from her neck to press firmly against it, murmuring as she did, "Cut it out."

It seemed wrong that only an hour ago she'd been concerned about a prefect's badge. _She_ seemed wrong. Sinking into her covers and pulling them over her face, willing herself into sleep, to stop thinking about Voldemort, and the Order, and the sight of her friends. _Dead_.

“Look sharp, Tom," Heather's head snapping up to see a rather large and round man, his hair straw-coloured and his mustache gingery-blonde, twitching as he spoke, "...you don’t want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect..."

Tom Riddle was obvious to her, her eyes flickering down to catch a gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger, "Sir, I wanted to ask you something.”

"Again?" Heather complained, kicking the table leg beside her, "Can't I get one night's sleep to myself?"

Unbothered by her cursing, the round man continued, “Ask away, then, m’boy, ask away…”

“Sir, I wondered what you know about…about Horcruxes?" her face turning to see the older man running his thick fingers against the stem of his wine glass,

“Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?”

“Not exactly, sir,” Riddle answered, “I came across the term while reading and I didn’t fully understand it.”

“No…well…you’d be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that’ll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that’s very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed,” Heather hanging onto every word, wondering what was so important about this memory,

"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can’t tell me, obviously —I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could—so I just thought I’d–”

"You're such a Teacher's Pet," Heather remarked, knowing full well from any other memory of his that this was all an act, all a part of his attempt to gather information,

“Well,” The Professor fiddling with the ribbon on top of a box, “well, it can’t hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”

“I don’t quite understand how that works, though, sir,”

“Well, you split your soul, you see, and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one’s body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form…few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”

“How do you split your soul?”

“Well,” the Professor growing more and more uncomfortable, “you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature.”

“But how do you do it?”

“By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By commiting murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —”

“Encase? But how —?”

“There is a spell, do not ask me, I don’t know!” the Professor violently shaking his head, “Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?”

“No, sir, of course not,” Riddle replied quickly, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to offend…”

“Not at all, not at all, not offended, It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things…Wizards of a certain calibre have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…”

“Yes, sir, what I don’t understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn’t seven —?”

“Merlin’s beard, Tom!” the Professor yelped, “Seven! Isn’t it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case…bad enough to divide the soul…but to rip it into seven pieces…”

He looked deeply troubled now, gazing back at Riddle with an expression very similar to Heather's. Filled with absolute terror at the aspect of what he was saying, and what this meant, “Of course,” he muttered, “this is all hypothetical, what we’re discussing, isn’t it? All academic…”

“Yes, sir, of course,”

“But all the same, Tom…keep it quiet, what I’ve told — that’s to say, what we’ve discussed. People wouldn’t like to think we’ve been chatting about Horcruxes. It’s a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know…Dumbledore’s particularly fierce about it…”

“I won’t say a word, sir,”

Riddle finally left then, walking past Heather with a look that made her stomach churn unpleasantly, it filled with wild happiness that instead of enhancing his handsome features merely made them look less human, her vision violently returning to her room at 12 Grimmauld Place as she rolled over, vomiting over the side of her bed.


	7. noose around my soul, i cut down the rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough –"
> 
> Heather had had enough, she'd practised theory and practical spells until she passed out in the library from the first day she arrived at Hogwarts, and what she had learned had barely scraped her the ability to live another day, "And what good is theory in the real world?"

After a sleepless night with anxiety about her return to Hogwarts and nightmares about Voldemort, Heather tried to manifest to the best of her ability a quiet morning. Where she could go to the train station trouble-free, board the Hogwarts express and get there alive and happy.

Unfortunately, all illusion of this was shattered when Fred and George bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs, hurtling straight into Ginny who was sent crashing into Heather, both of them rolling down two flights of stairs and landing at the bottom, Heather laying on her back with the back of her head stinging in the promise of a lumpy bruise and Ginny laying on top of her, Sirius's mother screeching along with Mrs Weasley at the top of their voices,

"– COULD HAVE DONE THEM SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS –"

"– FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS –"

Ginny pried herself off of Heather as they screeched, her face flushed so red Heather worried if it was about to explode, unable to stop herself from collapsing into a fit of giggles with the younger Weasley as they stumbled to their feet, both attempting to stifle these as an enraged Mrs Weasley healed them, the ensuing anger rising when Mad-Eye Moody said they couldn't leave till someone else arrived else they be one guard short.

It was challenging to think of anything else with all the screaming, yet as Heather rubbed the back of her head where she'd bounced off of the stairs, her brain slipped back into worrying about the bond. Despite silence since a knife had flung through her hand, any scrape or bump was one of extreme concern. One that even the idea that she was getting Voldemort beat up too couldn't fix. Startling from her thoughts as a shoulder bounced into hers, turning to face the still very red Weasley at her side, a grin playing on her lips,

"You saved me again, Heather."

"I really should start charging for the service."

Ginny opened her mouth to say something else, her words drowned out by Mrs Weasley turning to bellow up the stairs, "WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" wheeling around to Heather as the thuds of Hermione and Ron running down the stairs too disappeared underneath the screaming, "Heather, you're to come with me and Tonks, leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage.." Heather startling as a bear-like black dog appeared at her side, clambering over the various trunks, "oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!"

Heather could only shrug back at Mrs Weasley's desperate look for help, the woman turning with despair back to the black dog, "oh honestly...well, on your head, be it!"

Heather offered Ginny a wave in parting before clambering over the luggage to follow Mrs Weasley out into the weak September sunlight, the door slamming shut behind her and Sirius, cutting off the screeches of Sirius's mum behind them, 

"Where's Tonks?" Heather asked as they stepped down the stone steps of number twelve, the home vanishing behind them as their feet met pavement,

"She's waiting for us just up here," Mrs Weasley answered stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Heather.

An old woman with tightly curled grey hair greeted them at the corner, winking at Heather as she spoke, "Wotcher, Heather, better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?"

Mrs Weasley moaned as Tonks checked her watch, "I know, I know," lengthening her stride as they went, "but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis, if only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days...how Muggles can stand travelling without magic..."

It took twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot; Heather entertained the whole way by the black dog joyfully barking and gambolling around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its tail, lingering once inside the station beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then, in turn, leaning against it to fall easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families.

"I hope the others make it in time," Mrs Weasley murmured anxiously as they waited on the station, Heather looking on in anticipation at the Hogwart's Express before them, wondering what would happen that year, torn from her thoughts as Lee called across the station,

"Nice dog, Heather!"

"Thanks, Lee," Heather called back, grinning as Sirius's tail wagged frantically, Mrs Weasley sighing with relief as a man came limping through the archway, 

"Oh good, here's Alastor with the luggage, look..." followed by Mr Weasley with Ron and Hermione, almost unloading Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George and Ginny appeared with Lupin,

"No trouble?" Moody growled,

"Nothing,"

"I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore," Moody continued, "that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus."

After several warnings from the adults and words of advice that Heather felt she'd had drilled into her for six weeks straight, they were finally on the train, waving as it pulled away from the station, "He shouldn't have come with us," Hermione whispered,

"Oh, lighten up," Ron waved off, "he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke."

Fred and George were next to disappear in search of Lee, Heather turning to face the remaining three with a hand gesturing down the carriage, "Shall we go and find a compartment, then?"

"We're – well – Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,' Hermione murmured awkwardly, Ron looking at his fingernails as though they were more interesting, 

"Right." Heather managed,

"I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey. Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine, I'll..." casting a sideways look at Ginny whose ears seemed on the verge of lighting on fire, "I'll see you later, then?"

"Yeah, definitely, It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather – but we have to – I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,' he finished defiantly.

Heather didn't have time to feel at a loss as Ron and Hermione disappeared, Ginny bumping into her again, "Come on, if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places." making her best effort to avoid students pointing at her as they passed, whispering to their friends as Ginny glared at them, finally reaching the very last carriage to find Neville trying his best to hold onto his trunk and a struggling toad,   
  
"Hi, Heather, Ginny... everywhere's full...I can't find a seat..."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, squeezing past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him, "There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here –" Neville mumbling something about not wanting to disturb anyone, "Don't be silly, she's all right." sliding the door open and pulling her trunk inside as Heather and Neville followed, "Hi, Luna, is it OK if we take these seats?"

The girl beside the window was rather cute, Heather thought to herself as she looked up, reasoning that it was something about her wand stuck behind her left ear or the necklace of butterbeer corks, smiling back at the girl as they met eyes, "Thanks."

It was silent as they took their seats, Ginny settling in beside Heather and addressing Luna, who was reading something upside down, "Had a good summer, Luna?"

Luna's first appearance of being cute was slinking away into fear for Heather, her eyes never leaving her as Heather tugged her turtleneck higher up her neck, "Yes, yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know." Heather glancing toward Ginny for help as Luna continued, "You're Heather Potter,"

"I know," Heather replied, Neville, chuckling as Luna turned her pale eyes to him next,

"And I don't know who you are."

"I'm nobody."

"No, you're not," Ginny interrupted sharply, "Neville Longbottom – Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Luna sighed in a sing-song voice, raising her upside-down magazine high enough to hide her face and falling silent as Ginny and Heather met eyes again with a stifled giggle.

It was as Neville's plant exploded stinksap all over them minutes into their journey that Heather gave up on her attempts to have a peaceful year, wiping the stuff from her face as the compartment door slid open,

"Oh...hello, Heather, um...bad time?" looking up to see Cho Chang smiling back at her,

"Oh..." her mind running blank, she'd had a crush on Cho since they'd met in her third year, and after she unsuccessfully tried to ask her out the year prior, and Cedric being killed, Heather had assumed their relationship had been crippled before it had even left the ground, "hi."

"Um, well...just thought I'd say hello...bye then." closing the door and departing looking slightly red in the face as she disappeared, Ginny noisily clearing her throat from beside Heather,

"Never mind, look, we can easily get rid of all this." pulling free her wand, "Scourgify!" the stinksap vanishing at once.

* * *

Things had gone from bad, to worse. Ron thinking that Heather had lost her mind when she'd seen what looked like deformed horses pulling the carriages and their new Defence professor already looking out to be the worst one yet (even against Quirrel), she'd gotten into two fights already over her claim that Voldemort had returned and had woken up disorientated from a nightmare with Hermione already ready to start the day with an energy that Heather couldn't match.

Breakfast had next been spoiled with her friend staring at her as though trying to figure something out, from where Heather and Hermione had been used to changing in their dorm with the other girls, Heather had twice ducked into the bathroom to change, the entire routine leaving her feeling drained and uncomfortable with the sight of her skin once again.

Potions had next been a loss, Heather not paying attention and messing up her potion. Divination even worse with their topic about dreams, something Heather would rather die than discuss. 

Defence was next, something Heather was determined to bite her tongue at, to keep her head low as she was meant to and not get into trouble. This plan falling into dust within fifteen minutes when the woman dressed in all pink looked Hermione in the urge, smiling,

"Using defensive spells? Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly, beating Heather to the point,

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr –?"

"Weasley," Ron answered, thrusting his hand into the air along with Heather and Hermione, Umbridge's eyes lingering on Heather for a moment before turning to Hermione,

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked in a falsely sweet voice,

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

"And what use is that?!" Heather exclaimed, "If we're going to be attacked it-"

"Hand, Miss Potter!" Umbridge sang, Heather's hand turning into a fist in the air as Umbridge quickly turned away to face several other students who now had their hands up, this time turning to Dean, "And your name is?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Heather said, isn't it?" Dean asked, "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free."

"I repeat," Professor Umbridge smiled, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but –"

Umbridge talked over him, "I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school," an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention," giving a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous halfbreeds."

Heather's hand hit the table. Hermione grasping her to stop her from leaping over the desk and hitting Umbridge in the face, "Don't you dare talk about Professor Lupin like that!"

"Hand, Miss Potter! As I was saying – you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day –"

"No we haven't," Hermione argued, still clinging onto Heather, "we just –"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!" turning away from Hermione as she put up her hand, continuing as though Hermione hadn't interrupted at all, "It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" Dean interrupted hotly, "Mind you; we still learned loads."

"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!" Umbridge sang, "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is  
what school is all about. And your name is?' staring at Parvarti as her hand shot up,

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," Umbridge dismissed,

"Without ever practising them beforehand? Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough –"

Heather had had enough, she'd practised theory and practical spells until she passed out in the library from the first day she arrived at Hogwarts, and what she had learned had barely scraped her the ability to live another day, "And what good is theory in the real world?"

"This is school, Miss Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?" Heather demanded,

"Nothing is waiting out there, Miss Potter. Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Hmm, let's think..." Heather hummed mockingly, "Maybe...Lord Voldemort?" the reactions from the class drowned out as the mark around her throat seared uncomfortably, grinding her teeth in an attempt to resist the urge to scratch at it as Umbridge stared back at Heather calmly,

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Potter." the classroom was quiet around them as Umbridge stood up, leaning toward them, "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead..."

"He was never dead," Heather bit,

"Miss-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,' Umbridge hissed in one breath without looking at her, "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark Wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

Heather saw red, all the emotions she'd bottled up for the last six weeks finally exploding in one direction, "It is NOT a lie! I saw him. I fought him!"

"Detention, Miss Potter!' Umbridge snapped triumphantly, "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, "Basics for Beginners"."

Umbridge sat down again as though she'd won, Heather, far from done with the woman, rose to her feet, Hermione tugging at her sleeve and hissing for her to sit back down as Heather pulled it free, 

"One last question..." Heather continued, "How did Cedric Diggory die, in your own words, please. I'd love to hear your explanation."

Umbridge had lost her fake smile, looking up at Heather as though figuring out a school-friendly way to hex her, "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

"It was murder," Heather seethed, not caring that this was the first time she'd spoken to anyone about it, least of all the thirty students in the class, "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

The stinging sensation around her neck had doubled tenfold by now, and panting in rage as Umbridge looked on the verge of screaming Heather became all too aware of it, "Come here, Miss Potter, dear."

Heather kicked her chair aside in one last show of defiance as she strode up toward Umbridge, not caring whatever would happen next as Umbridge scribbled over a pink piece of parchment, after a minute or so tapping it with her wand as it sealed itself, "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear." snatching the parchment from her and turning back to her desk to snatch up her bag and leave the classroom, slamming the door behind her as the wood gave a sickening crack and quickening her pace toward McGonagall's office.

"Why aren't you in class?" Heather passing the parchment toward McGonagall as she entered, dropping onto the chair opposite her desk and freely rubbing at her neck where the skin had grown irritated and inflamed, "Is this true?"

"Is what true?" Heather murmured,

"Stop scratching at that-" McGonagall scolded, Heather reluctantly pulling her hand away from her neck, "Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"

"Yes."

"And you called her a liar?"

"Yes."

"You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"

"Yep."

"Have a biscuit, Potter." Heather's rage slunk away instantly, looking up at surprise at Professor McGonagall as the woman indicated to a tartan tin on her desk, "Have a biscuit," Heather taking a Ginger Newt as the woman continued, "You need to be careful."

"Why?" Heather murmured gloomily, "What's the point?"

"Because misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and detention."

"What do you –?"

"Use your common sense!" Professor McGonagall snapped, "You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.." the bell sounding for the end of class as Professor McGonagall looked back down to the parchment, "It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow."

"Every evening this week!" Heather repeated in horror, sitting up a little straighter, "Can't you-"

"No, I couldn't. She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."

Heather's rage was back, ignoring the earlier scolding McGonagall had given her and scratching at her neck, "I was telling the truth! Voldemort is back-"

McGonagall winced at the name, her voice, however, remained unshaken, "For heaven's sake, Potter! Do you think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!" rising to her feet as Heather followed, "Have another biscuit," thrusting the tin toward her,

"No, thanks."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Heather took one, muttering thanks, "Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?"

"Yeah, the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts."

There was a moment of silence before Professor McGonagall sighed, "I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate."

"It's not doing me any good." Heather murmured, pulling the fabric back over her neck in a feeble attempt to cease her scratching, "Not that anything is anymore."

"Not with that attitude," Professor McGonagall reprimanded, "You will muddle through, Heather. That is all any of us can do."


	8. lost my way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Potter."
> 
> "Sn'ep."

“Good evening, Miss Potter.”

Sirius, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall had all warned Heather to mind her temper during this detention. Yet all her carefully laid plans to stay calm flew out the window the second Professor Umbridge opened her mouth.

“Evening." no matter what warning she was given, she couldn't shake the anger from her voice. The hatred she harbored for the woman. 

“Well, sit down,” Heather's eyes followed Umbridge's gesture toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair, speaking as Heather reluctantly sat down, "This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Miss Potter."

Heather wanted to make a comment about the nasty, attention-seeking stories, but had to bite it down, forcing herself to focus past her heartrate roaring in her ears, "There, we’re getting better at controlling our temper already, aren’t we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Miss Potter. No, not with your quill,” stopping Heather from reaching for her bag, “You’re going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She didn't like the quill. It was long and far too thin, the point unusually sharp.

"I want you to write ‘I must not tell lies,'"

"How many times?" Heather asked, not bothering to try be polite,

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in, off you go."

"But you haven't given me any ink?"

"Oh, you won't need ink," Umbridge answered with a small hint of laughter, bending over a stack of parchment with a shake of her head as though Heather had just asked the stupidest question. Heather's glare lasting for a moment longer before looking back to her parchment, writing in clean handwriting,

I MUST NOT TELL LIES

She had barely finished the sentence before hissing in pain, lifting her hand to see that as the words on the parchment had appeared in shining red ink, they appeared onto the back of her right hand. Staring onto the skin as it healed over, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than usual but smooth.

Heather didn't move, still staring at her hand in horror as Umbridge's voice crept into the silence,

"Yes?"

She couldn't do anything. And was strangely unwilling to do so. Let Voldemort rage, let him get his revenge. Let him find out who the cause of his irritation was.

"No." Heather managed, lowering her hand, "Nothing."

Heather kept writing, grinding her teeth with each word as what began as a feeling of irritation in her scar and on her neck grew into a pain much worse than that of her hand. Darkness falling outside of Umbridge's window as Heather refused to ask when she could stop. She would not show weakness, no matter what, even as the world seemed to blur for a moment around her.

It seemed like hours before Umbridge spoke, "Come here."

The world seemed to spark dangerously as Heather rose shakily to her feet, swaying slightly from the pain as she approached Umbridge, "Hand."

Her hand was red and searing with pain as Heather extended it, shuddering as Umbridge took it and examined the wound, "Tut, tut. I don’t seem to have made much of an impression yet,” smiling all the way, "Well, we’ll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won’t we? You may go."

Heather left wordlessly, fighting against the urge to collapse as the mere act of collecting her bag from the ground nearly sent her over the edge into unconsciousness, stepping through the deserted corridor as the ground seemed to circle underneath her, not hearing her name being called out from the darkness until a hand grabbed her shoulder tightly, lifting her head drearily to see the pale expression of Professor Snape,

"Potter."

"Sn'ep." Heather managed, launching into a speech as to why she was out there so late, "Just...finished...tention with bridge." blearily trying to focus in on his face as the back of his hand extended to press against her forehead, 

"You're not well."

The noise Heather achieved in response made no sense to either of them, settling afterward to shrug helplessly in hopes that it pacified the bat-like man before her, the man of which clearly didn't accept this, seizing her upper arm and dragging her along the corridor, offering no explanation even as he banged his fist against a door, Madame Pomfrey appearing moments later, just as exhausted as Heather, 

"Professor Snape and...oh dear!"

"Potter is not well, Poppy. I need to fetch Albus, are you able to take her from here?"

"Yes, of course, come here, Heather..."

Heather wanted to obediently follow Poppy, but her body seemed to work against her, barely making it a step forward before the world blacked out around her.


	9. tear it from my heart again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pray tell, what lies has my soulmate been telling?"

The silence around her was deafening. Static fuzzing and crackling before giving way to sight, opening her eyes to meet with a pair of red eyes. A strange heat running hot across her body at once, a pale hand reaching out to take her face, green eyes catching words bloodily etched into his hand before looking to her own where the same wound was mirrored. Silence broken by distant voices as she couldn't bring herself to turn away, 

"Who did this to you?"

"Umbridge." it was like a sweet dream, something soothing about the heat of the room, about those eyes before her, the voice asking for questions she could so readily give, wishing she could grow closer, leaning forward as the voices grew louder, the heat quickly disappearing into coldness as the room quickly dissolved into nothing, awaking with a startle to the ceiling of the hospital wing.

"Ah, you're awake!" Dumbledore's voice greeted, Heather wincing at the sound, "You gave us all quite a fright." forcing herself to sit up and face the older man sat on the end of the bed who seemingly had a lot to say to her, "You were speaking Parsletongue in your sleep, what were you dreaming about?"

Voldemort. She'd been dreaming about him again, not that this was new, or had ever been new. The man having of haunted them in one way or another. But there had been something different about this one, the way that he felt, no longer something of a ghost always in the shadows, but something more solid this time. His magic heavy near hers, twisting and swirling around her as if waiting for the chance to strike. It had all felt so real.

"Potter?" Severus made himself known next, dragging her from her daze as she blinked repeatedly to try and ground herself in the room, lifting her hand into her line of sight to see the words still engraved into her skin, angry and sore,

"Could Madam Pomfrey not heal me?"

"The headmaster felt it best to allow Professor Umbridge to think her lessons are settling in." Snape answered, something bitter in his tone, "I however believe no one is capable of teaching you anything." Heather's eyes flickering back to the headmaster who seemed to be trying to stare into her soul,

"Heather it is important we know of anything new in your dreams."

"It was just a nightmare." Heather answered, "Nothing new."

"A nightmare about what?" Dumbledore pressed, "Was it about Voldemort?"

"They're always about him." looking back to her hand, "Why hasn't Voldemort healed it himself?"

"The dark lord..." Snape began, the two adults exchanging looks Heather couldn't understand, "Was a little more preoccupied with seeking vengeance."

Shit, Heather thought, clenching her fist and unclenching it in an attempt to soothe herself, that could explain the dream. Where she had so readily given up information she would've never given to the real Dark Lord, and if it had been real, what would he do with that information? 

* * *

The words 'I Must Not Tell Lies' stung against the pale white of his hand, eyes trailing along with each letter shakily written into the flesh, waiting for healing to take over the wound, some sign that Heather Potter had been healed. But they remained, the blood beginning to dry on his hand, blurring the letters.

"My lord." Severus's voice made itself known, the man having of been stood there for several minutes after being summoned, red eyes flickering up from the wound to meet the Professor, "Would you like for me to heal the wound?"

"Tell me, Severus, why has the headmaster not healed her wound?"

Their connection over Heather's dream had told him who had caused the injury but not why. Or why the headmaster had failed to see fit to heal it. Perhaps the old man wanted to cause the Dark Lord injury at the cost of the Girl Who Lived.

"He saw fit that the teacher would be allowed to teach Potter a lesson." there was more emotion to Severus's voice than there had ever been, a whisper of anger, of bitterness. Perhaps out of loyalty to the girl's mother.

"A lesson?" Voldemort murmured, trailing one long finger across the letter 'L' on his hand, the skin there stinging from the contact, "Pray tell, what lies has my soulmate been telling?"

"Potter has been insistent regarding your return, her teacher saw fit to punish her for this. She has been given detention for every evening this week."

"That won't do." Voldemort rising to his feet, several solutions already running rampant, ways to prevent Heather from any more harm at the hands of this teacher let alone those in charge of her care whilst away for the moment from his arms, "I shall have to meet with this Professor myself."

* * *

Heather was allowed out of the hospital wing the next morning, ducking her friends' questions about where she'd been and how her detention had gone in favour of trying to get through the day. Unfortunately for Heather, rumours about her being stir-crazy for saying Voldemort had returned was quickly being replaced by rumours about the soul mark everyone had seen after the graveyard and who it was with. Finding herself mourning those peaceful seconds she'd had in her dream.

Of course, the longing for it was paired with a feeling of guilt and hatred at herself for missing anything that might include Voldemort, not even the explanation that the bond could be causing this allieviating her guilt. Hermione suggesting she should write to her godfather at lunch.

But the last thing Heather wanted to do was to worry him or pester him with anything else. Staring at her cauldron in Potions class as these thoughts ran rampant around her mind, the fire under her cauldron reminding her bitterly of the dream once more, the desire to get closer, to bask in that warmth till she drowned in it, her hand moving to rest against her cauldron, the heat pressing into her palm,

"Heather?"

Everything else felt cold since the dream. Feeling as if someone had torn her in half and she was now desperately searching to be whole again, her loneliness an open wound that had become infected and painful.

"Heather!" pain replaced the warmth in her hand as Hermione's hand seized her wrist, dragging it away from her cauldron and turning it over, her palm red and inflamed as Hermione reached for her wand, "Episkey!" the skin healing over almost instantly, leaving behind with it the noise of cauldrons, looking up to meet Snape's eyes across the cauldron,

"Potter go to the headmasters' office immediately. Granger, go with her."

"I can go by myself." Heather bit back, grabbing her bag with her now healed hand and darting from the classroom before Hermione could even attempt to follow, anxiously rubbing her hands together as she set off in the direction of the Headmasters office, what had happened? she had burnt her hand, feeling a far cry from the girl she'd been mere days prior, worrying about any scrape of burn. She had done it herself, provoked the bond, she'd burnt herself, and by extension him.

Perhaps the bond was corrupting her, perhaps _she_ was going bad.

"Acid Pops." the gargoyle springing to life to grant her access to the headmaster's staircase, feet obediently beginning to ascend the stairs, the wound beginning to sting from the irritation of her hands rubbing together, the door opening for her as she stepped into Dumbledore's office, the older man's head lifting from the letter he was so deeply engrossed in,

"Heather, hello."

"Professor Snape sent me."

"Oh?"

"I burnt my hand, sir. Hermione healed it." those twinkling eyes never relenting their stare at her, seeming to be trying to stare into her soul again for a moment before turning away with a heavy sigh, folding the letter he was reading,

"That explains it, then."

"Explains what, sir?"

"It seems Professor Umbridge has fallen unexpectedly ill, the Ministry is sending us a replacement for the rest of the year." fixing his glasses, "Of course, it is clear that Professor Umbridge has not made this choice for herself, rather had it made for her by Lord Voldemort."

"I don't..."

"I know that you did not intend for this to happen, Heather." Heather unable to process what Dumbledore was saying, Voldemort had visited Umbridge? was this because of her dream? had she caused this? "Unfortunately it seems Voldemort took the injury very personally."

Heather's instinct was to apologize, but something inside her refused to budge to allow the words out. She hadn't asked for the wound, nor had she been given choice for the Detention. They were the ones who wouldn't heal it, leaving both Heather and Hermione struggling to do so and failing to manage it. Feeling more inclined to thank Voldemort for freeing her day from the wretched woman. So she responded with the only thing she could think of, "Who will be replacing her, sir?"

"Lucius Malfoy was apparently very eager to take the job."

"Draco's dad?" Heather echoed, wondering if this was due to Voldemort's influence too, flashes of seeing Lucius Malfoy donned in a mask at the graveyard sparking in her mind, "But he's a death-eater!"

"Not to the Ministry, as such, we have no choice in the matter. You had best get back to class, Heather."

* * *

“You know, I was thinking today...” Hermione began in the Common Room that night after Heather filled them both in on Lucius taking over Umbridge's job, “I was thinking that — maybe the time’s come when we should just — just do it ourselves.”

"Do what ourselves?" Heather asked, soaking her hand in the essence of murtlap tentacles to soothe the still aching skin,

"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," Ron giving out a loud groan,

"Come off it, you want us to do extra work? D’you realize Heather and I are behind on homework again and it’s only the first week?”

“But this is much more important than homework!” 

“I didn’t think there was anything in the universe more important than homework,” Ron said,

"Don’t be silly, of course there is!” Hermione's face suddenly alight with fervor, “It’s about preparing ourselves, as Heather said in Umbridge’s first lesson, for what’s waiting out there. It’s about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don’t learn anything for a whole year —”

“We can’t do much by ourselves,” Ron interrupted, “I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose —”

“No, I agree, we’ve gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books, we need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we’re going wrong.”

“If you’re talking about Lupin..." Heather began,

“No, no, I’m not talking about Lupin, he’s too busy with the Order, and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that’s not nearly often enough.”

“Who, then?” Heather asked, sinking into the couch even further with the hope of chasing sleep soon, "There's nobody in Hogwarts who could." Hermione letting out a noisy sigh,

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m talking about you, Heather."

“About me?"

"I’m talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Heather stared at her for a moment before sitting up a little straighter in disbelief, looking to Ron for support,

"That’s an idea."

"What’s an idea?" Heather demanded,

"You, teaching us to do it."

Heather was certain they were pulling her leg, her free hand anxiously going up to rub at her neck from habit, "I’m not a teacher, I can’t —”

“Heather, you’re the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts,”

“Me? No, I’m not, you’ve beaten me in every test —”

"You beat me in our third year — the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I’m not talking about test results, Heather. Look what you’ve done!”

Heather didn't want to look at what she'd done, every year filled with some unimaginable horror or fight for her life, the last one ending up with an almost permanent mark around her neck and a bond to the man who'd murdered her parents and singlehandedly torn her life apart, Ron mistaking this silence as her thinking about what they meant, 

“You know what, I’m not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,” Ron said to Hermione before pulling a Goyle-like face of concentration, “Let’s think,” Uh...first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who.”

"That was luck, that wasn’t skill —”

“Second year,” Ron interrupted, “you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle.”

"If Fawkes hadn’t turned up —”

“Third year, you fought off about a hundred dementors at once —”

“You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn’t —”

“Last year,” Ron was almost shouting now, “you fought off You-Know-Who again —”

“Listen to me!” Heather's rage was building, Ron and Hermione both smirking unaware of the way her heart rate escalated, her body burning with rage and frustration, "Sure, it sounds great when you say it like that, but it was all up to luck — I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, I didn’t plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help —”

Hermione nor Ron were seeming to listen to what she was saying, pulling her hand from the murtlap essence and rising to her feet in fear of smashing something, “Don’t sit there grinning, I was there, I know what happened. And I didn’t get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right — but I just blundered through it all, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing —" the abandoned bowl of murtlap essence behind her exploded as her rage seemed to clog her throat, the light beside Ron following suit and plunging them into darkness aside from the lit fire, but the anger continued, words falling out of her mouth like vomit, 

“You don’t know what it’s like! You’ve never had to face him." his face burned into her mind, nightmares she'd closed behind doors in her mind bursting free like a stream of lava, setting off all instincts to run and fight, "You think it’s memorizing spells and throwing them at him like you’re in class. But the whole time there’s nothing between you and dying except your ability ro run and think straight when you know you’re about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die." Cedric's body flashing into her vision briefly, "— they’ve never taught us that in class, what it’s like to deal with things like that — and you two sit there acting like I’m a clever little girl to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid like he messed up —"

Heather could barely breathe, tears threatening to build now, feeling as if she was back in that graveyard again, clutching onto Cedric's body and screaming for him to come back, "That could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t —”

“We weren’t saying anything like that, mate,” Ron interrupted, now on his feet too and reaching for her hands, pulling her right hand away from scratching at her neck, “We weren’t having a go at Diggory, we didn’t — you’ve got the wrong end of the —” Ron looking helplessly at Hermione,

“Heather,” Hermione spoke quietly, Heather noticing a slight tremor to her friends hands, "don’t you see? This . . . this is exactly why we need you. . . . We need to know what it’s r-really like . . . facing him . . . facing V-Voldemort.”

Hermione saying Voldemort's name grounded Heather ever so slightly, enough to allow her to feel the pain of her hand and throat, as though someone had pressed a hot iron to them,

"Think about it,” said Hermione, “Please?”

"Right." Heather managed, shame already creeping in as Hermione cast a quick glance up to the stairs leading to the dorm, 

"I'm off to bed, are you coming?" Hermione asked in an attempt to talk normally, her wand pointing at the shattered bowl to clean up the mess, Heather nodding in fear that her words would reveal the trail of rage still burning away at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> curiouscat -> https://curiouscat.me/abbiwinchxster  
> ko-fi -> https://ko-fi.com/ekatsim


	10. in your head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we’d all like to know —”
> 
> “If all want to hear what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you,” Heather bit, her attention now focused angrily on Zacharias, “I don’t want to talk about Cedric, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you've wasted your time.”

The next few weeks were quieter for Heather, something she was grateful for. Her hand finally having healed randomly one night, and her D.A.D.A lessons now replaced by Lucius who never once picked on her or paid her much attention. Not that he'd changed Umbridge's lesson plans, meaning their practical experience in the subject was severely lacking.

“I was wondering,” Hermione said as they were studying for Potions, “whether you’d thought any more about Defense Against the Dark Arts, Heather?

"How could I not?" Heather replied, knowing exactly what Hermione was hinting at and wishing to avoid it, "I can’t forget it, not with Malfoy's dad teaching us —”

“I meant the idea Ron and I had” Ron casting her a threatening look, “-oh, all right, the idea I had, then — about you teaching us.” Heather pausing on the page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, determinedly thinking over her answer,

“Well, I’ve thought about it a bit.” Heather looking to Ron in hopes he'd give her more time to think, Ron obeying immediately,

“I thought it was a good idea from the start,"

“You did listen to me when I said it was all luck, right?”

“Yes, Heather, but all the same, there’s no point pretending that you’re not good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can’t, Viktor always said —”

Ron looked around at her so fast he appeared to almost snap his neck, “Yeah? What did Vicky say?”

“Ho ho,” Hermione answered, “He said Heather knew how to do stuff even he didn’t, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang.” Ron still looking at Hermione suspiciously,

“You’re not still in contact with him, are you?”

“So what if I am?” her face a little pink, "I can have a pen pal if I —”

“He didn’t only want to be your pen pal,” Ron bit back as Hermione shook her head exasperatedly before turning back to Heather,

“Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?”

“Just you and Ron?”

“Well,” Hermione looking a mite anxious again, "Don't fly off the handle again, Heather, please...but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we’re talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort — oh, don’t be pathetic, Ron — it doesn’t seem fair if we don’t offer the chance to other people.” Heather scoffing and turning back to her book,

“I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. I’m a nutter, remember?”

“Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you’ve got to say,” Hermione replied, leaning towards Heather, “Look, you know the first weekend in October’s a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who’s interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?”

“Why do we have to do it outside school?” Ron asked,

“Because,” Hermione answered, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she was copying, “I don’t think Professor Malfoy would be very happy if he found out what we were up to.”

* * *

“Where are we going anyway?” Heather asked, the wind whipping her hair around her as they walked through Hogsmeade, “The Three Broomsticks?”

“Oh — no, it’s always packed and really noisy. I’ve told the others to meet us in the Hog’s Head, that other pub, you know the one, it’s not on the main road. I think it’s a bit...you know...dodgy..but students don’t normally go in there, so I don’t think we’ll be overheard.”

"Right," Heather replied, her eyes finding the battered wooden sign in the distance, a picture of a wld boar's severed head leaking blood barely visible, so lost in this she didn't realize someone walking toward her, their shoulders colliding as she stumbled backward, "Shit, sorry-" her words falling off as she looked to the man she'd bumped into, dark eyes staring back at her, something so familiar in them that she couldn't place, opening her mouth to speak when Hermione grabbed her arm,

"Come on, they'll be waiting for us..." stumbling along with her friend's guidance and away from the man, Ron's voice filled with entertainment as they approached the pub,

"Did you know him or something?"

"No." She didn't. She'd never seen him in her lifetime, yet something had been familiar, something she couldn't place as Ron ordered them butterbeer, sliding into chairs on the other end of the pub, trying to shake the face from her mind as she turned back to Hermione, “So who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?

“Just a couple of people,” Hermione repeated, checking her watch and then looking anxiously toward the door. “I told them to be here about now and I’m sure they all know where it is — oh look, this might be them now —”

Heather didn't think anyone would be happy with her if they knew what she was up to, sat with Ron and Hermione in the Hogs Head, swiping with her thumb the dust from her glass. Dumbledore would likely chastise her for being reckless, Sirius would try bundle her in bubblewrap and drag her out the door, and Voldemort...she wasn't quite sure what he'd do now that he couldn't kill her.

Either way, planning to start a club where she'd teach other students defence wasn't something others would want her to do. The door of the pub opening and releasing a thick band of dusty sunlight into the room along with an incoming crowd of people. A far cry from the five or ten she'd imagined.

“A couple of people?” Heather whispered,

Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,” Hermione replied happily, “Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?” Heather too panicked to pay attention to the crowd,

“What have you been telling people? What are they expecting?”

"I’ve told you, they just want to hear what you’ve got to say, you don’t have to do anything yet, I’ll speak to them first.”

“Hi, Heather!" Neville greeted, sliding into a seat opposite her, her hands beginning to shake as more people filed in closer, the chatter slowly dying out as everyone took their seats, every eye on her as Hermione stood, her voice slightly higher with nerves, 

“Well — er — hi...well, you know why you’re here. Erm, well, Heather here had the idea — I mean” Heather throwing her a sharp look, “I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Malfoy is doing with us because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Hear, hear,” Anthony Goldstein piped up,

"well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.” pausing to look sideways at Heather, “And by that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —”

“You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?” Michael Corner said,

“Of course I do, but I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because..." taking a great breath, "Because Lord Voldemort’s back.”

The reaction was immediate across the room, all of them fixing even more eagerly upon Heather, “Well . . . that’s the plan anyway, If you want to join us, we need to decide how we’re going to —”

“Where’s the proof You-Know-Who’s back?” a blonde Hufflepuff piped up aggressively,

“Well, Dumbledore believes it —” Hermione began,

“You mean, Dumbledore believes her,” the blonde boy interrupted, pointing at Heather as Ron next stood,

“Who are you?”

“Zacharias Smith, and I think we’ve got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who’s back.”

“Look,” Hermione intervened, “that’s really not what this meeting was supposed to be about —”

Heather realized why so many had come, wishing Hermione had seen it sooner. That most had shown up in hopes of hearing Heather's story first hand, rising to her feet beside Hermione, “It’s okay, Hermione," turning her attention to Zacharias, “What makes me say You-Know-Who’s back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn’t believe him, you don’t believe me, and I’m not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as Heather spoke, Heather gaining the impression that even the barman was listening in, the glass suddenly bathed in light as the door opened, the same man she'd bumped into earlier entering and walking straight toward the barman, Zacharias distracting her from her stare,

“All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we’d all like to know —”

“If all want to hear what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you,” Heather bit, her attention now focused angrily on Zacharias, “I don’t want to talk about Cedric, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you've wasted your time.”

“So,” Hermione interrupted, clearly fearful that Heather was about to start hitting people, her voice very high-pitched again, “So, like I was saying...if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet, and where we’re going to —”

The man had gotten a drink from the barman, who had now gone a deathly shade of pale and took off to clean glasses on the other end of the bar, those dark eyes now focused on their group intently, 

“Is it true,” a girl with the long plait down her back interrupted, “that you can produce a Patronus?” a murmur of interest rippling through the group, Heather nodding defensively, "A corporeal Patronus? is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?” “

"Yes,” Heather answered,

"Blimey, Heather!” Lee burst, "I never knew that!”

“Mum told Ron not to spread it around,” Fred spoke, grinning at Heather, "She said you got enough attention as it was.”

“She’s not wrong,” Heather replied as a few people laughed, her attention drifting back to the wizard briefly,

“And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore’s office?” Terry Boot demanded, “That’s what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year.”

“Yes.” Heather answered, starting to feel warm with embarrassment,

“And in our first year,” Neville addressed the group, “she saved that Sorcerous Stone —”

“Sorcerer’s,” Hermione hissed,

“Yes, that, from You-Know-Who,”

“And that’s not to mention,” Cho spoke, “all the tasks she had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things. . . .”

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table, “Look,” Heather began, the group falling silent at once, "I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but...I had a lot of help with all that stuff."

“Not with the dragon, you didn’t,” Michael Corner said at once, “That was a seriously cool bit of flying..."

“I _know_ I did bits of it without help, but the point I’m trying to make is —”

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” Zacharias Smith demanded, Ron's face going a dark red with anger,

“Here’s an idea,” Ron said loudly, "why don’t you shut your mouth?” Zacharias flushing,

“Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from her, and now she’s telling us she can’t really do any of it,”

"That’s not what she said,” Fred Weasley snarled,

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags, “Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,”

“Yes, well,” Hermione interrupted hastily, “moving on, the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Heather?" there was a murmur of general agreement, "Right, well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don’t think there’s any point in meeting less than once a week —”

“Hang on,” Angelina interrupted, “we need to make sure this doesn’t clash with our Quidditch practice.”

“nor with ours.” Cho agreed,

“Nor ours,” added Zacharias Smith,

“I’m sure we can find a night that suits everyone, but you know, this is rather important, we’re talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort’s Death Eaters —”

“Well said!” barked Ernie Macmillan, “Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!” pushing on, “I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells —”

“We think the reason the Ministry doesn’t want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione said, “is that they've got some . . . some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army."

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, “Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.”

“What?” Heather asked,

“Yes, he’s got an army of heliopaths,”

“No, he hasn’t,” Hermione snapped,

“Yes, he has,”

“What are heliopaths?” Neville asked blankly,

“They’re spirits of fire,” Luna's protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, “Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of —”

“They don’t exist, Neville,” Hermione interrupted,

"Oh yes, they do!”

“I’m sorry, but where’s the proof of that?” Hermione snapped,

“There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you’re so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you —”

“Hem, hem,” Ginny interrupted in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm, “Weren’t we trying to decide how often we’re going to meet and get Defense lessons?”

“Yes, yes, we were, you’re right. . . .”

“Well, once a week sounds cool,” Jordan agreed,

“As long as —” Angelina began,

“Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch,” Hermione snapped, “Well, the other thing to decide is where we’re going to meet...” 

Heather had tuned out again, her attention returning to the wizard who had failed to break his unrelentless gaze on her. Perhaps he was mad she'd bumped into him? or some Ministry fanatic wanting to put her under for insisting Voldemort's return. Or something else. Only snapping out of her own stare when Hermione nudged her, directing her to a piece of paper where everyone was writing their names before leaving the bar,

“Well, I think that went quite well,” Hermione chirped as they quickly followed out of the Hog's Head into the sunlight,

"That Zacharias bloke’s a wart,” Ron rumbled,

“I don’t like him much either,” Hermione admitted, “but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really — I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t been going out with Ginny —” Ron gagging and spraying the last of his butterbeer down his front,

“He’s WHAT? She’s going out with — my sister’s going — what d’you mean, Michael Corner?”

“Well, that’s why he and his friends came, I think — well, they’re obviously interested in learning defense, but if Ginny hadn’t told Michael what was going on —”

“When did this — when did she — ?”

“They met at the Yule Ball and they got together at the end of last year,” the three of them turning onto the High Street and pausing outside the Quill Shop, “Hmm, I could do with a new quill.” Heather glancing behind them as they entered the store, half expecting to see the Wizard behind them, Ron continuing on,

“Which one was Michael Corner?”

"The dark one,”

"I didn’t like him,” Heather following them both along a row of quills,

“Big surprise,”

“But I thought Ginny fancied Heather!” both Heather and Hermione looking at him pityingly,

“Ginny used to fancy Heather, but she gave up on her months ago considering everything." 

"Considering what?" Heather asked as she plucked offhandedly at a long quill,

"No," Hermione gasped, suddenly invested in a quill, "I just mean, it's not that she doesn’t like you, of course, but you've heard the rumors." flushing even deeper at Heather's raised brow, "About you having a soul mate, I mean..."

Ron clearly understanding that Heather was about to implode quickly interrupted with more rage about Ginny's boyfriend, continuing this all the way back onto the street until Hermione finally turned to face him,

"This is exactly why Ginny hasn’t told you she’s seeing Michael, she knew you’d take it badly. So don’t harp on about it, for heaven’s sake.”

“What d’you mean, who’s taking anything badly? I’m not going to harp on about anything..." deciding he'd return back to the previous topic he'd wanted an escape from moments prior, "Anyways, Heather hasn't got a soul-mate." knocking into her playfully, "You'd of told us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, course I would," Heather answered thickly, feeling rather like someone had shoved cotton balls down her throat, staring around at Hogsmeade in hopes its beauty would let her escape that moment. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd tell them that her soulmate was Lord Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading! I hope this chapter can be some enjoyment and I do have a few more lined up, don't panic, we will get to see some actual Lucius scenes!


	11. hang up my heart, let it air out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m being followed?” 
> 
> “Yeah, you are, and just as well, isn’t it, if the first thing you’re going to do on your weekend off is organizing an illegal defense group.”

Heather had sat listening to George and Fred projectile vomiting to sell their next great invention and Hermione whining for one thing. Staring into the fire as slowly everyone trickled out, leaving Heather there with Hermione and Ron both dozing on the couches, her hand rubbing at her neck as she waited.

It'd been on her mind all day since Sirius sent the letter asking for them to talk, wondering throughout lessons what he wanted to talk about. Blinking as a familiar untidy dark head appeared in the fire, relief that he had finally arrived seeping into her muscles, closely followed by exhaustion, "Sirius."

"Hi, Heather." Sirius greeted warmly, his voice startling Ron who exclaimed the name with a start, Hermione shushing him on her route to join Heather by the fire, the three quickly grouped beside the fire alongside Crookshanks who attempted to put his head to Sirius's, “How’re things?”

"Not good,” Heather admitted, Hermione pulling Crookshanks backward from the fire, "Malfoy's dad has taken over Umbridge."

"I heard. No one has seen her in weeks either."

This was news to Heather, scooting closer to the fire in wonder, "Dumbledore said she'd quit, not that she'd gone missing!"

"The Ministry is trying to keep it quiet, it wouldn't look good to admit something had gone wrong." both Ron and Hermione seemed to agree with this, Heather scooting back as though the fire was burning her with the overwhelming shame that had overcome her at once. If Umbridge had gone missing there could only be one cause. One reason she had dropped suddenly off the face of the earth. 

"Anyways," Sirius continued loudly, as though sensing Heather's internal panic, "You lot want to choose your meeting places more carefully.

"Whatdya mean?" Ron asked, his ears flushing as though he already knew what Sirius was referring to,

"The Hog’s Head. Could you of picked a worse meeting place?”

"Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!” Hermione snapped defensively, “That’s always packed with people —”

“— which means you’d have been harder to overhear,” Sirius interrupted, “You’ve got a lot to learn, Hermione.”

“Who overheard us?” Heather asked, her mind running back to the strange wizard that had followed them into the Hogs Head,

“Mundungus, of course,” Sirius laughed, “He was the witch under the veil.”

Not the strange Wizard then, “That was Mundungus? What was he doing in the Hog’s Head?”

“What do you think he was doing?” Sirius huffed, “Keeping an eye on you, of course.”

“I’m being followed?” Heather demanded,

“Yeah, you are, and just as well, isn’t it, if the first thing you’re going to do on your weekend off is organizing an illegal defense group.”

“Why was Dung hiding from us?” Ron asked in disappointment, “We’d’ve liked to’ve seen him.”

“He was banned from the Hog’s Head twenty years ago, and that barman’s got a long memory. We lost Moody’s spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung’s been dressing as a witch a lot lately." Sirius turning to Ron, "First of all, Ron — I’ve sworn to pass on a message from your mother.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group. She says you’ll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also” — Sirius’s eyes turned to Heather and Hermione — “advises Heather and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you’d all have been in real trouble, and she can’t say it for herself because she’s on duty tonight.”

“On duty doing what?" Ron demanded,

“Never you mind, just stuff for the Order, so it’s fallen to me to be the messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on because I don’t think she trusts me to.”

“So you want me to say I’m not going to take part in the defense group?” Ron muttered,

"Me? Certainly not! I think it’s an excellent idea!"

“You do?” Heather asked,

“Of course I do! D’you think your father and I would’ve lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge or Malfoy?”

“Last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks!” Heather snapped,

“Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Heather! This year it's very different, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!”

“And if we do get expelled?” Hermione asked, a quizzical look on her face.

“Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!” Ron guffawed,

“I know it was, I just wondered what Sirius thought,”

"Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue,” flickering his eyes between Ron and Hermione, "Now off to bed you two, I want to speak to my god-daughter alone." _that_ wasn't good, anxiously giving the two a small wave as they gathered their stuff and departed cheerfully before turning back to Sirius, who seemed to wait for a moment to make sure they were alone before speaking, "How are you, Heather? Dumbledore says that you burned your hand."

"That was an accident," Heather lied, drawing her hands into herself and out of sight, "Hermione healed it."

"That doesn't matter, Heather, you know that it's dangerous to-"

"Provoke him, I know." her mind running back to Umbridge, the words tumbling free, "After my detention with Umbridge, I ended up passing out and...I had a dream about him."

"A dream?" Sirius repeated, "Like the memories?"

"No, it was different. It felt like he was really there. He wanted to know who hurt me, and I..." the act of speaking aloud the dream made her chest constrict painfully, "I told him." sinking into herself, pressing her forehead off of her knees, "I think it's my fault she went missing."

"Have you told Dumbledore?"

"No." she couldn't, she couldn't trust Dumbledore right now. Something about his refusal to heal her sunk in uncomfortably, her brain sending off signals of panic whenever they interacted, "I don't really want to talk to him right now." 

"Heather..."

"It's fine," staggering to her feet, "I just need to get some sleep."

Unfortunately for Heather, a peaceful sleep wasn't on her side. Falling into a dream within seconds of her head meeting her pillow, opening her eyes to an unfamiliar room, her back pressed against the hardwood of a chair, tilting her head up to find a pair of red eyes above her, the aged face of Tom Riddle hovering a little too close for comfort, one hand braced on the chair just at the side of her head and another slowly trailing up her arm, sending shivers in its wake,

"Heather." his voice was soft like honey, enough to make her almost melt into a puddle where she was sat, his head tilting closer so that she could feel his cool breath on her face, "My soul,"

If she was ever sure of one thing, it was that he needed to stop talking. Her resilience becoming as ferocious as a small puppy as his hand made its way up across her neck and taking its place where the mark on her neck lay. Her hands moving of their own volition toward him as he did, in such a way that she could almost hear a small voice warning her that curiosity killed the cat.

But she needed to know, dream or not, that she was not alone in the mark bestowed upon her, trembling fingers moving to his black shirt covering his skin and thumbing free the top button, exposing the pale skin of his neck, marred with a handprint that matched hers, a movement that was rewarded by his hand around her throat tightening ever so slightly, pressing her further back into the chair as her hands released him, satisfied for the moment with what they'd found.

But now she was trapped between the chair and what could easily be six-foot worth of Dark Lord, panic-like small fires firing off in her mind only to be blown out by the bleedthrough of emotions that she knew were coming from him, a singular word trapping itself between them. Want. An almost insatiable hunger like no other. It was only as his lips grew closer to ghost over hers that her panic won out, a rush of adrenaline pushing her forward as her hand rose and sharply collided with his face, her face stinging as it collided with his as the hand around her throat tightened impossibly.

It was her roommates that were awoken moments later as Heather sat up in a panic, a scream catching in her throat.

* * *

Heather had to forget the dream, it was something she told herself each morning. But no matter how exhausted she was after each day, she'd still sit up till late at night terrified to fall asleep in fear of another dream like the last. Hating herself for the weakness she'd had, how close she was to his lips, the want _she'd_ felt.

As a result, she was too exhausted to fight anyone on anything. No matter what comment came past she'd just shrug and turn the other way. Barely paying attention in d.a.da or Potions, neither Professor scolding her for this distance from paying attention. Only managing to save her energy for Quidditch and Dumbledore's Army. Something that grew tasking as she sped after the snitch, Malfoy close behind, his fingers nearly lined with hers as she reached for it, barely grabbing the small ball when Draco yelled -

"-POTTER! WATCH OU-"

But Heather wasn't fast enough, a Bludger colliding with her back and sending her forward from her broom and onto the ground that was thankfully only five or so feet from her, winding her regardless as she hit the dirt, Madam Hooch's shrill whistle sounded as the stands erupted into catcalls, angry yelling and jeering, Malfoy's white-blonde hair appearing above her, "Potter," his usually pale face red from what could've as easily been the cold as anger, "I told you to watch out!"

Angelina's frantic voice appeared next, "Out of the way, Malfoy! Heather, are you alright?!" 

"Yep," Heather groaned, accepting Angelina's hand to pull her from the floor, "Perfect and peachy." watching Draco skulking off into the distance, 

“It was that thug, Crabbe,” Angelina continued angrily, “He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you’d got the Snitch — but we won, Heather, we won!” a snort sounding behind them as they turned to see Goyle, his face definitely red with rage,

"Dunno why you saved Weasley’s neck, I’ve never seen a worse Keeper!"

"Leave it," Angelina hissed to Heather, dragging her from Goyle toward the rest of the team who'd begun to land, yelling and punching the air in triumph, except for Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

“We wanted to write another couple of verses!” Goyle yelled as Katie and Alicia hugged Heather tightly, “But Draco couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother —”

“Talk about sour grapes,” Angelina muttered,

“— We couldn’t fit in useless loser either — for his father —”

Fred and George realized as they approached Heather just what Goyle was saying, stiffening and looking toward him,

“Leave it," Angelina taking Fred's arm, “Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —”

“— but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter? Draco says you spend holidays there and everything. We can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys’ hovel smells okay —”

Clearly, Voldemort had felt Heather's collide with the ground, a new type of anger trickling up her throat, making it harder to ignore Goyle's comments as she hopelessly turned to try and find Madam Hooch who was busy berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack,

“Maybe you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it —”

A small thread seemed to snap at this, unaware of quite what she was doing as her fist, still clutching the Snitch, sank hard into Goyle's nose, a spurt of blood immediately exploding from it as the boy dropped howling to the ground, 

“HEATHER! GEORGE! NO !” she hadn't quite snapped out of it yet, screaming and yelling joined by George swearing as he and Heather continued with their attack on Goyle, a new voice appearing seconds later,

“IMPEDIMENTA!” sending the three knocked over backward by the force of the spell, abandoning their attempt to beat the life from Goyle, “What do you think you’re doing?” Madam Hooch screamed, holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Goyle was curled up on the ground, his nose bloody and George sporting a swollen lip, Fred still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers.

“I’ve never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now!”

Both Heather and George were panting as they marched off the pitch, the only sound as they reached the entrance hall their own footsteps. Slowly becoming aware as they walked of something struggling in her right hand, her knuckles bruised and bloodied as the Snitch’s silver wings protruded from between her fingers, struggling for release. Professor McGonagall meeting them in the corridor there, still sporting a Gryffindor scarf that she quickly tore from her throat with shaking hands,

“In!” Heather nor George hesitated, Professor McGonagall striding around behind her desk to face them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor, “Well? I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two onto one! Explain yourselves!”

“Goyle provoked us,” Heather replied stiffly, the anger still trickling away in her brain, flooding her thoughts as she fought to stay afloat,

“Provoked you?” Professor McGonagall shouted, slamming a fist onto her desk as her tartan biscuit tin slid sideways off it, bursting open and littering the floor with Ginger Newts, “He’d just lost, hadn’t he, of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two —”

“He insulted my parents,” George snarlled, “And Heather’s mother.”

“But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle dueling, did you? Have you any idea what you’ve — ?”

“Excuse me,” both George and Heather spinning around to see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway, “May I help, Professor McGonagall?”

“Help?” Professor McGonagall repeated blankly, “No. I am quite alright."

"Very well," grey eyes sliding over to Heather briefly, "Once you are done I would like to speak to Heather Potter myself."

There was a moment of silence, Heather looking to McGonagall for help who seemed to struggle for ideas before continuing her scolding as if biding for time, "You two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Goyle offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week’s worth of detention! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it!"

"Very well," Lucius interrupted, "If that is all, Potter, with me, _now_."

"-Excuse me-"

"As High Inquisitor, I am allowed to speak with students just as you are, Minerva." Lucius continued unflinchingly, turning to exit the room, "Potter, now."

Heather was grasping at straws, looking to McGonagall for help who seemed to age by several years at once, "Very well, Potter, go."

The hallway was quiet as Heather followed Lucius Malfoy, the snitch still struggling in her fist as he led them into a nearby classroom, trapping her as he stood in front of the door, "Potter. Are you injured?"

That was not what Heather expected, blinking several times before speaking, "What?"

"You hit the ground quite hard. Do you need healing?"

"No." looking at her fist, "I'm fine-" gaping as Lucius's hand snatched forward, catching her wrist where she held the snitch, his wand in his other hand as he made quick work of the bruising, her fist unclenching as he did and releasing the Snitch into the room where it flew haphazardly in an attempt to escape, the older man pocketing his wand in favor of seizing the collar of her shirt next and tugging it down enough to expose her throat, grey eyes inquisitively running over it before releasing her, "So the rumors are true."

"Rumors," Heather repeated, eyes flickering off to see the Snitch still trying its best,

"Yes. You had best be more careful, Potter. Good day."

Lucius was gone as quickly as he appeared, leaving Heather in the empty classroom, the snitch whizzing past her head as if demanding her attention. But she was already in too deep trying to decode what this had meant, had Voldemort sent Lucius to watch her? and if so, just how many people were tailing after her these days?


	12. fear might be the death of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was halfway across the world that Voldemort paused, his quill hovering above the word he was writing in shock. A strange feeling on his lips and a rush of emotions from the other side of the bond. The desk lamp beside him exploding as he realized what had just happened.

Usually visits to Hagrid were filled with joy. But his return only marked higher stress for the trio, now desperately hoping Malfoy's father wouldn't sack him in his review of Hagrid's classes. Trudging through the snow on that tuesday toward Hagrid who awaited them on the edge of the forest.

"Jeez," Heather murmured, the snow slowing down their brisk pace in hopes to be first to class, "He doesn't look reassuring." his bruises now tinged with green and yellow, cuts highlighting them that still looked as if they were bleeding. Wondering darkly if Dumbledore had also decided it was best not to have Hagrid healed, maybe Hagrid had asked the way he was stood now. Something that was like a dead cow over his shoulder.

“We’re workin’ in here today!” Hagrid called happily, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him, “Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark...”

“What prefers the dark?” Malfoy's voice called sharply, Heather not missing a trace of panic in his voice, “What did he say prefers the dark — did you hear?”

"At least his dad isn't here," Heather sighed, the one thing worse than one strangely behaving Malfoy was two. From Draco trying to save her from a bludger and his father asking if she needed healing, she could only suspect that it was something to do with Voldemort. Perhaps he was checking that she wasn't about to jump from the Astronomy Tower and wipe them both out.

“Ready?” Hagrid called, dragging Heather from her darkening thoughts, “Right, well, I’ve bin savin’ a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we’d go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we’re studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ’em —”

“And you’re sure they’re trained, are you?” Malfoy asked, the panic in his voice even more pronounced now, “Only it wouldn’t be the first time you’d brought wild stuff to class, would it?”

It was loyalty to Hagrid that stopped Heather murmuring in agreement, it wouldn't be the first time Hagrid had endangered her life by way of an animal. Fluffy just one of many.

“’Course they’re trained,” Hagrid scowled, hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder,

“So what happened to your face, then?”

“Mind yer own business! Now if yeh’ve finished askin’ stupid questions, follow me!”

It was peer pressure that got her into the forest, Ron grasping onto her arm as they followed him in, all walking for around ten minutes before finally reaching their destination, trees stood so close together that it was as dark as twilight, the ground bare from snow as Hagrid dropped his dead cow with a grunt onto the ground before stepping back to face the class,

“Gather roun’, gather roun’, now, they’ll be attracted by the smell o’ the meat but I’m goin’ ter give ’em a call anyway, ’cause they’ll like ter know it’s me...”

Heather watched as he turned, shaked his hair from his face, and gave an odd, shrieking cry. Silence falling as his cry ending, most of the class (including Heather) too afraid to make a sound as Hagrid gave the shrieking cry again. A moment later a pair of blank, white shining eyes growing larger through the gloom before appearing with a dragonish face and skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse. Looking around at the class for a few seconds before it bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs. Turning to face Ron only to see confusion on his face, whispering to her, “Why doesn’t Hagrid call again?”

Most of the rest of the class, Heather quickly realised, were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron’s, “Oh, an’ here comes another one!” Hagrid spoke proudly as a second black horse appeared out of the dark trees, “Now . . . put yer hands up, who can see ’em?”

Neville's hand went up first, Heather following moments later in surprise that very few could see them out of the entire class, Hagrid singling her out first, “Yeah, I knew you’d be able ter, Heather, an’ you too, Neville, eh? An’ —”

“Excuse me,” Malfoy interrupted in a sneering voice, “but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?”

Hagrid didn't answer, instead pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The whole class staring at it for a few seconds before realising what was going on, a few girls shrieking in fear.

“What’s doing it?” Parvati demanded as she retreated behind a tree, “What’s eating it?”

“Thestrals,” Hagrid answered, Hermione giving a soft “oh!” of comprehension, “Hogwarts has got a whole herd of ’em in here. Now, who knows — ?”

“But they’re really, really unlucky!” Parvati interrupted, "They’re supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once —”

“No, no, no, tha’s jus’ superstition, that is, they aren’ unlucky, they’re dead clever an’ useful! ’Course, this lot don’ get a lot o’ work, it’s mainly jus’ pullin’ the school carriages unless Dumbledore’s takin’ a long journey an’ don’ want ter Apparate — an’ here’s another couple, look —”

Two more horses came from the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, “I think I felt something, I think it’s near me!”

“Don’ worry, it won’ hurt yeh. Righ’, now, who can tell me why some o’ you can see them an’ some can’t?” Hermione raising her hand at once, “Go on then,”

“The only people who can see thestrals, are people who have seen death.”

“Tha’s exactly right, ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals —”

“Hello, Hagrid.” Lucius Malfoy's voice appeared from nowhere, near startling Heather into an early death who clapped her hand over her heart, cursing under her breath, 

“Oh, hello!" Hagrid's voice strained and fake, clearly having not forgiven him for the Buckbeak incident,

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning? telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?”

“Oh yeah,” Hagrid answered, “Glad yeh..." not sounding very sincere, "...found the place all righ’, well, as you can see — or, I dunno — can you? We’re doin’ thestrals today —”

“I’m sorry?”

“Er — thestrals!” Hagrid answered loudly, “Big — er — winged horses, yeh know!” flapping his gigantic arms as he answered, Lucius merely raising his eyebrows before scribbling down on his clipboard, “Well, anyway ...erm...what was I sayin’?” Oh, yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an’ five females. This one,” he patted the first horse to have appeared, “name o’ Tenebrus, he’s my special favorite, firs’ one born here in the forest —”

“Are you aware,” Lucius Malfoy interrupted, “that the Ministry of Magic has classified thestrals as ‘dangerous’?”

“Thestrals aren’ dangerous! All righ, they might take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them —” Lucius didn't seem to believe this, merely walking across the students as Hagrid struggled to regain flow, “so — thestrals. Yeah. Well, there’s loads o’ good stuff abou’ them. . . .”

“Do you find that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?” Lucius asked Pansy, Pansy struggling to contain her giggles as Draco seemed to be having the same issue,

“No . . . because . . . well . . . it sounds . . . like grunting a lot of the time. . . .”

Hagrid tried to pretend he hadn't heard Lucius, “Er . . . yeah . . . good stuff abou’ thestrals. Well, once they’re tamed, like this lot, yeh’ll never be lost again. ‘Mazin’ senses o’ direction, jus’ tell ’em where yeh want ter go —”

"And has anyone in this class ever been...injured, by one of the creatures?"

"Of course," Heather groaned as Draco's hand shot into the air, bragging loudly about his 'near-death experience with Buckbeak, Hagrid's face going very stone-like as Lucius nodded to his son before looking back to Hagrid,

“Well, Hagrid, I think I’ve got enough to be getting along with. You'll receive your results in ten days time." meeting Heather's eyes briefly as he turned to depart, sparking something in her that she wasn't quite sure of, her hand rising seemingly out of a free will to mimic a throat-slitting motion, half expecting Lucius to call her out on this, only to have him squint in return before disappearing back into the trees, Ron in her ear,

"What the hell was that?!"

Whatever it was, Heather was certain Voldemort had both Draco and Lucius under some kind of strict instructions to follow her. Enough to make both afraid of provoking her.

It had felt like years before the end of term approached, Heather's passing days spent exhaustively checking behind her at every moment, half expecting Voldemort to appear there at any second and whisk her away. Trying to keep her patterns as haphazard as they could in a bid to throw off anyone (mostly Lucius Malfoy) tailing her. Which after a DA meeting meant trying to spend as much time waiting behind the group as possible.

Unfortunately for Heather, Cho seemed to have the same idea. Nervously fixing the pillows and waiting for the girl to leave, only to be caught off-guard by a loud sniffle. Turning to see Cho stood in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.

"Cho?" despite everything, she'd never really quite gotten over how awkward it had been between them just over a year ago. Back before the Graveyard, when one of her biggest worries had been about Cedric Diggory, the older, handsome, boy that played the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Their rivalry nearly romantic til Cho and he started dating. An almost rivalry temporarily between them.

But Cedric had died, and Heather had seen it happen. Cho had been left distraught and the two had never spoken after that.

"Are you okay?"

“I’m — sorry,” Cho murmured, wiping her tears on her sleeve, Heather nervously approaching, “I suppose...it’s just...learning all this stuff...it just makes me...wonder whether...if he’d known it all...he’d still be alive..”

Heather’s heart sank again, awkwardly shifting her weight between her feet, “He did know this stuff, he was really good at it, or he could never have got to the middle of that maze. But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don’t stand a chance.”

“You survived when you were just a baby,” Cho whispered, "And you survived the Graveyard."

“Yeah, well,” Heather answered, looking toward the door helplessly, “I don't know why, nor does anyone else. So it’s nothing to be proud of.”

“I’m really sorry to get all upset like this, I didn’t mean to..." Cho hiccuped again, Heather had never misunderstood why Cedric liked Cho so much, even when she was crying she was still pretty, “I know it must be horrible for you, me mentioning Cedric when you saw him die...I suppose you just want to forget about it. You’re a r-really good teacher, you know,” Cho's smile watery, “I’ve never been able to Stun anything before.”

“Thanks,” Heather managed, a silence hovering between them for a long moment before something caught Cho's eyes,

"Mistletoe,”

“Yeah,” Heather's mouth dry, “It’s full of nargles.”

“What are nargles?”

“No idea, you’d have to ask Luna." Cho making a noise that sounded either like a laugh or a sob, so close that Heather could see tears clinging to her eyelashes,

“I really like you, Heather.” 

Cho was upon her before she could react, lips wet with tears pressing against her own as if Cho was desperately trying to find salvation from her hurt in Heather, whose hands had now found Cho's shoulders, gently prying her away from her. Not quite sure what was wrong yet as Cho's eyes filled with more tears, worryingly searching Heather's face. She knew Cho was attractive, and anyone else would be about to throw a celebration party if they'd been in Heather's shoes, but it didn't feel right.

"I'm sorry," Cho blubbered, stepping away from Heather's hands, "I didn't mean to-" eyes darting to the door, "You have a soulmate, I was wrong to-"

"-Yeah." That was it, her hand reaching to rub at the fabric covering her neck, it had to be. The mark was the reason it felt so wrong, "It's okay..."

"I'm sorry." Cho apologized again, spinning on her feet and taking off for the door in a brisk walk, wiping her tears as she went, the mistletoe slowly dissolving above Heather. Leaving her only one question as Cho left the room, would Voldemort of felt _that?_

* * *

It was halfway across the world that Voldemort paused, his quill hovering above the word he was writing in shock. A strange feeling on his lips and a rush of emotions from the other side of the bond. The desk lamp beside him exploding as he realized what had just happened.

* * *

It took Heather half an hour to return to the Common Room, her head pounding from stress and emotional bleedthrough of absolute rage from Voldemort, who she dreaded to think had just also been kissed by Cho. A thought she didn't like to think about for more than a second without feeling as if she was about to hurl. Hermione looking up from her letter as Heather entered,

“What kept you? you look pale.” Heather not answering as she sunk into the chair beside her friend, all too aware that Voldemort was somewhere in the world losing his mind more than she was, "Are you all right, Heather?” 

Heather could only shrug, every movement making her head throb more,

“What’s up?” Ron asked as he hoisted himself up on his elbow, “What’s happened?”

“Is it Cho?” Hermione asked as Heather nodded numbly, “Did she corner you after the meeting?”

“So — er — what did she want?” Ron asked, clearly beginning to realize what had happened,

“She — er —”

“Did you kiss?” Hermione asked as Ron sat up suddenly, sending his ink bottle flying all over the rug,

“Well?” Heather nodded again, “HA!” Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist alongside a raucous peal of laughter that Heather wince and several timid-looking second years over beside the window jump, “How was it?”

“Wet, because she was crying,”

“Oh,” Ron's smile fading, "Are you that bad at kissing?”

“Maybe I am,” Heather whispered,

“Of course you’re not,” Hermione interrupted, still scribbling away at her letter,

“How do you know?!" Ron exclaimed,

“Because Cho spends half her time crying these days, she does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.”

“You’d think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,”

"Ron, you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What sort of person cries while someone’s kissing them?”

“Yeah,” Heather agreed, rubbing at her temples, "who does?”

“Don’t you understand how Cho’s feeling at the moment? she’s feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she’s feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Heather, and she can’t work out who she likes best. Then she’ll be feeling guilty, thinking it’s an insult to Cedric’s memory to be kissing Heather at all, and she’ll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Heather. And she probably can’t work out what her feelings toward Heather are anyway, because she was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that’s all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she’s afraid she’s going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she’s been flying so badly.”

“One person can’t feel all that at once, they’d explode,” Ron murmured,

“Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have,”

“She was the one who started it," Heather sighed, “I wouldn’t’ve — she just sort of came at me — and next thing she’s crying all over me — I didn’t know what to do —”

“Don’t blame you, mate,” Ron agreed, looking alarmed at the thought,

“You just had to be nice to her, you were, weren’t you?”

“Well,” Heather managed, "I kind of...pushed her away? but not roughly."

“Well, I suppose it could have been worse,” Hermione sighed loudly, “Are you going to see her again?”

“I’ll have to. We’ve got D.A. meetings."

“You know what I mean,” Hermione snapped from frustration, Heather sinking further into her chair as Ron jumped to Heather's defense, 

"What if she doesn’t want to ask her?”

"Don’t be silly, Heather likes her, don't you, Heather?"

Heather didn't answer, still rubbing at her temples as though to soothe her headache as the topic changed to Krum. Sure she liked Cho, she was nice and smart. But she wasn't sure she liked her like that. Or if she ever had liked anyone like that. Perhaps she'd been broken her whole life, trying to desperately emulate love for others based on what she saw on TV. Maybe she just hadn't met the right person, like her god-father had said. Someone that wasn't easy to love, that gave her excitement and something to keep her on the toes.

It was only as Tom Riddle's face unpleasantly came to mind that Heather decided she should really try sleeping again. Hermione murmuring away as they headed off to bed in complaint about Ron's hatred of Krum, her voice background noise as Heather crawled into bed, sleep quickly consuming her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we get an f in the chat for cho?


	13. you keep me from crashing down (stay a little longer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rage that resulted in the Dark Lord destroying his own things did not mean well for the next man who entered his line of sight, and clearly, Severus was that unlucky individual for the evening.

The office was in a state of mad disarray by the time Severus arrived, the mark on his arm burning with such rage that he feared his arm might just combust from the heat alone. Eyes nervously tracking as Voldemort's magic slowly set in around the room, pulling glass back together and books back onto the shelves. The man himself staring out of his window, a terrifying sight alone.

A rage that resulted in the Dark Lord destroying his own things did not mean well for the next man who entered his line of sight, and clearly, Severus was that unlucky individual for the evening. Suspecting that perhaps his bond to a highly emotional teenage girl was worsening his ability to control temper and magic.

"My lord." scarlet eyes instantly turning to face him, a face like thunder upon the snake-like features of Voldemort, "How may I be of service?"

"Where was Potter?" Voldemort demanded, growing closer to his desk which Severus thanked merlin for, hoping foolishly that the forced distance between them might lessen his pain later, the magic that had seconds prior been returning the office to a state of calm closing in on them, suffocating Severus as it seemed to find home wrapped around his throat, warning sirens blaring in his head. Because truth to be told, he'd had no clue where Potter had disappeared off to that evening.

And this was certainly not something Voldemort wanted to hear.

"I could only confirm this evening that Potter had not left the grounds." first he had Dumbledore on his ass about Potter's whereabouts, now he had Voldemort, "It is suspected that she and a small group have been disappearing once per week to a location we've been unable to locate."

Silence. A singular finger on Voldemort's hand twitching, a signal that he was very close to being tortured, and with very little information to offer, Severus could merely brace himself for it.

"How is it that the Girl Who Lived is able to disappear on school grounds?" Voldemort asked for a moment, his voice strange and tightened in a way he'd never heard before, "What kind of protection is that headmaster offering?"

Potter was due detention, Severus thought darkly as he tried to maintain a look of calm, whatever stunt she was pulling this year was going to have him murdered if they couldn't figure it out soon enough. 

"You say it is her and a group disappearing?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well. Inform Lucius that a new decree will be coming into effect for the rest of the year, forbidding groups without express permission." that definitely wasn't going to stop Potter, "And to find out if anyone around her is aware of what scheme Heather Potter is up to. I'd hate to have to find out myself."

Severus would have to remember after at least five glasses of Fire Whiskey to warn Dumbledore of this latest development, "Do keep a close eye on her, after all, I can't very well have my soul mate kissing others."

Make that _ten_ glasses of fire whiskey.

* * *

Heather had barely opened her eyes in the dream before that same hand returned, scarlet eyes burning through the dim light of the room as it forced her feet to rapidly stumble backwards, fear overwhelming her senses as her back collided with a wall in the room, her hands desperately coming up to grip at the hand around her throat, trying to pull it from her before the lack of air could overwhelm her,

"Just what have you been up to, Heather?" the voice that unmistakably echoed Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets asked, her nails digging into his arm, trying to ignore the pain that immediately returned to her own flesh, nail marks appearing into her skin,

"Get-" it couldn't be real, after all, he seemed scarily unbothered by his own lack of air, "-Off-", his grip slacking as if aware of her desperate thoughts, "-Me."

"Tell me."

"You're just a dream." desperate thinking, but it had to be, there was no way in hell they were together in a _dream_ , "You're not real." flinching back at the laughter that tore from his throat, the amusement that overwhelmed his face briefly, contrasting against the hand still threateningly around her throat, "It's a nightmare."

"Do you dream of me often?" Voldemort asked, "After all, this is not the first time we've been here."

Not real, Heather pleaded, forcing her eyes away from his, to try and place something in the room, to try and wake herself up, not real. Definitely not real. Perhaps the first could've been, but only that. Denial was far easier than truth.

"Tell me, Heather," Voldemort whispered, pressing herself subconsciously further against the wall in a bid to attempt his head as it grew closer, his free hand pressing to the right of her head, trapping her in place, the hand around her throat loosening in favour of pulling at a stray curl of hair, "Who did you kiss?"

Just a dream. A bad dream. Her own misplaced guilt at having kissed Cho manifesting itself. The soulbond having a field day. Wincing as he pressed closer, caged in now between him and the wall, repeating that it was just a dream, that she had no reason to be afraid as if it were a prayer that would save her.

"You've gone awfully quiet, my dear." the hand that had been busying itself with her strand of hair moving to take her face, guiding it upwards with a quickly dissolving resistance, face to face with an instantly recognisable man.

His cheekbones were ones she could never have forgotten, dark hair that was always so pristine unlike her wild mane, the pads of soft fingers pressing against her jaw, all of this enough to make her feel winded. Suspecting that had her dream shown her Lord Voldemort, the snake-like form she'd grown to know, it would've been a world easier to ignore the pressure of the bond. Something that had begun drumming away in her chest, her fingers twitching with the urge to touch him, to feel her hands against his, her lips-

"You only have one soulmate, Heather." Tom or Voldemort murmured, her brain struggling to remind her that the man before her was still the same monster from before, the sudden closeness that had mere seconds ago been unbearable quickly becoming a thought that it was not quite close enough, a thought that set off distant warning sirens in the back of her mind, "So, just who else would you be kissing?"

"She kissed me," Heather managed, mouth running dry, "I didn't kiss her." wondering as he smiled if it was possible for a smile to make her feel drunk,

"Good girl."

Had anyone she knew found out she'd had dreams repeatedly heading in a very dangerous direction, they'd likely chain her up and throw her in Azkaban for being a traitor. After all, being all too aware of the fact that she was betraying all her values and family was enough to make her feel like she was drowning without the added guilt of others knowing. 

"Get some rest now," the hand holding her face trailing up to run through her hair, careful eyes watching as each strand passed through his fingers, "You're going to need it."

Heather Potter would need to buy many apology gifts for her roommates, after all, being woken up late at night to the Girl Who Lived screaming couldn't be fun. Hermione hounding her all the way from their room into the Common Room the next morning where she was stopped by a large crowd surrounding the Gryffindor notice board, her friend murmuring aloud the notice once they'd pushed close enough to see,

"All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Malfoy). No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. "

"What the fuck?"

“Does this mean they’re going to shut down the Gobstones Club?” a kid yelled out in the crowd, Ron appearing beside them at once to call out to the kid,

“I reckon you’ll be okay with Gobstones,” looking next to Heather, who had her hand pressed to her heart in fright at his sudden appearance, "I don’t think we’re going to be as lucky, though, do you?”

“This isn’t a coincidence,” Heather replied, “He found out somehow.”

“He can’t,”

Heather's mind was racing with possibilities, "We don’t know how many of the people we can trust, any of them could have run off and told Malfoy."

“Zacharias Smith!” Ron burst, interrupting Hermione who turned to speak, “Or — I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look too —”

“They can’t have done,” Hermione hissed, nudging Ron to be quiet,

“You’re so naive, you think just because you’re all honorable and trustworthy —”

“No, they can’t have done because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed, believe me, if anyone’s runoff and told Malfoy, we’ll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it.”

“What’ll happen to them?” Ron asked,

"Well, put it this way, it’ll make Eloise Midgen’s acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let’s get down to breakfast and see what the others think, I wonder whether this has been put up in all the Houses?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, I'm sorry that this was a little short but there will be more heather/voldie in the next one!
> 
> if you enjoyed it and want to come scream at me, check out the below links or leave a comment!
> 
> kofi - ko-fi.com/ekatsim  
> curiouscat - https://curiouscat.me/abbiwinchxster  
> twitter - https://twitter.com/abbiwinchxster  
> tumblr - https://abbiwinchxster.tumblr.com/


End file.
